PS 635 Z3'^ll^ 



.Z9 
B114 
Copy 1 



FLOEET, 



THE POOn G-IRL. 



A. DOIMESTIC 1>1?^1lM:jV IIV FOUK A.CTS, 



FROM THE TALES OF 



PIERCE EGAN, ESQ., 



DR. J. FREDERICK BABCOCK ; 



TH AVHICII AKE AUUKD 



A description of (he Costumes— llic t'luiiaclcrs— Entrances and Exits- 

the " Story" antecedent to tJie llay— and ilic wliole of the 

Stage fJusiness. 



BANGOR, ME. 

SAMUKL O. BAILEY, PRINTER, HAMMOND ST. 
1874. 



FLOKET, 



THE POOR aiRT^. 

FROM THE TALES OF 

PIERCE EGAN, ESQ., 
DR. J. FREDERICK BABCOCK ; 



TO WHICH ARE ADDKD 



A. description of the Costumes— the Characters — Entrances and Kxits — 
the " Story" antecedent to the Play— and the whole of tbo — r~"~" 

Stage Business. ■ y*<s/ Oi" CO^TN 

■ Uj-ii 



BANGOR, ME. \ '-^I-'jUG:^^ ' 



SAMUEL O. BAILEY, PRINTER, HAMMOND ST. 

1874. 



CHARACTERS. — [THE POOR GIRL.] 

Floret, the Poor Girl. 

Daddy Windy. 

Liper Leper. 

Lord Victor, (Marquis of Broadlands.) 

Bertram, (Earl of Brackleigli.) 

Marquis, (Lord Westchester.) 

Lord Nihilalhum. 

Harry. 

Esmond. 

Constance, Lady Westchester.) 

Hagar Lot. 

Susan Atteu. 

Grannam. 

Fannie Shelley. 

Ida. 

GipsieSf Peasants, Servants, die. 



TMP92-008573 




ACT I. 

Scene I, Woods. Shruhhery. Near z. and c a pool of water 
around, and in whicJi yrov: Jlowers and loater-lillies. At back of 
stage a path to right. ' Baddy Windy and Grannam discovered. 
Searching. 

Daddy. [A silver haired old man in the Gipsy costume, loMch 
isXattered, dli'ty and ragged. In his hand, a stick.] I tell yer, 
'ole' 'ooman [angrily and impatiently] the Vild, Vite Rose is' nt 
'ere ve've looked in every hole hereabouts. She's run'd away, ole 
'ooman, d'ye hear you ole night-owl. I say she's run'd away, 'an 
its all your blame. I' ye as good a mine to gi' yer a dose o' Doctor 
Ashplant [shaking Ids stick at her] as ever I put a goolden suv'rin 
in my bag. Yer might ha' knowed she'd cut an' I'un the first favor- 
able openin' 

Gkannam. [Similarly dressed. Bloated and disfigured face.] 
Look a 'ere old man of all, what yer fussin about. I gin er' a 
whoUopin' an' she desaved it. An' if she's gou' I say let 'er go. 
She vas an ugly, ungrateful tramp a'ter all we ha' done for er' — 
an' ve vos so kind. 

Daddy. Let 'er go? [surprise] Let 'er go? Now jes yer 
mind ole 'ooman an' keep that [angribj]' ugly tongue o' yours 
atween your teeth. Oh you old sun-flower. You old crocus. 
You old burdock. Let 'er go? [Laughing wildly.] My Vite 
Rose ! . My liily o' the wally ! My goold mine ! Not if I knows 
it. No, not if I knows it. 

GI^AN^"AM. Now oie man o" all, dout let yer ongry passions 
rise. Cause why. She's on' y hiding in fun maybe. Idessey she's 
gone back Iwng ofore now. 

Daddy. [His face lighting up] So she may my Dianna, so she 
may, but we'll soon see, we'll soon see. [Both exit l. • 

Enter Floret, through path at r. 

[Very poorly and raggedly clad; her hair is disheveled by running; 
she has on no slioes or stockings; very much out of breath; she is 
looking around frightenedly as though fearful of being pursued. 

Floret. O by gracious! aint I glad. " [Jimijj.s about, laughing 
merrily.] Aint I glad; Fve run away from that old man and wo- 
man at last, ha, ha, ha. I fooled 'era nice, and I'll never, never 



FLORET, OE 



go back again, for Graunam beats me so awfully I'd rather die than 
go hack [Looking around.] Oh my, is'nt this beautiful {joyously 
clapping her hands) just see all these flowers and lillies; wouldn't 
I like to stay here all the time, and Oh, there's a pond, won't I 
have some fun, (running towards it) but I hope Daddy {pauses) 
won't catch me again, (seriously) for then I should have to go back 
and sell tlowers to get money for him; but 1 won't do it, if I know 
myself, and I think I have some (drily) slight idea. No I don't 
either — Oh, I've told a liel (laughing merrily) I've told a lie! I've — 
told— a— lie! (Correcting herself .) I wish I did have some idea 
who I was, (determinedly) but I mean to find out some day sure. 
[Runs and sits downby the pond, dabbling in the water with hands, 
and picking floioers, forming a xoreath of them which she places up- 
on her head, looking up smilingly as if to court the approbation of 
imaginary spectators, andbreaking out suddenly into the song.] 

O, oranges, sweet oranges, 
Pulpy cheeks that peep through trees. . 
The crabb'dest churl in all the South- 
Would hardly let a thirsty mouth 
Gaze at thee and long to taste. 
Nor grant one golden kiss at last. 
O, oranges ! sweet oranges ! 

Yet cheeks there — yet chefeks there are, 
Sweeter — O, good God ! how far, 
Which make a thirst like very death, 
Down to the heart through lips and breath ; 
Yet, if we ask a taste of those. 
The kindest owners would turn foes, 
O, oranges ! sweet oranges ! 

Enter «*BoY, clad as a countrytnan. 

Boy. [c] That's a pretty squealing thou'st been making here- 
abouts, I do think. What bee'st doin' here? (angrily.) 

Floret. (Starting up and gazing at him firmly, defiantly and 
proudly.) What am I doing here ? Can't yer see? Only gather- 
ing a few wild flowers, that's what I bee'st [jn^mcinf/] doing here! 
(picking them.) 

Boy. Only gathering a few wild flowers? Why, you've been 
• howling like a wild cat, and doin' it, I'll be sworn, jist to keep folks 
off the scent while some o' your gang ha' been snarin' rabbits 
(Floret turiis with a disdainful gesture) Oh, I see pretty plain 
what ye be — ye' re a tramp! a vagram! Be (going towards her) off, 
or I'll ha' ye put in a cage. (Pushes her.) 

Floret, (angrily.) Do not touch me, you have no right to 
touch me. 

Boy. AintI! Why, if thee don't troop I'll lay this cudgel 
(Raises his.^tick) about thy shoulders; troop, or I'll do it for thee 
at once. (About to .strike. ) 



THE POOR GIRL. O 

Enter YiCTOii from L. 

Victor. {Hurriedly — Clad as a young nobleman.) What, you 
rascal, would you strike a girl ? 

Boy. (Angrily.) Whotliedev — (f?trn.s) I beg pardon, (Jmmbly) 
my Lord, but I didn't see 'twar your lordship; I war speakin':] to 
this vagram hei-e, my Lord ; I war only — 

ViCTOB. Threatening like a cowardly scoundrel as you are, to 
strike her with a stick — 
(Floret is making decided gesture.'^ of approval.) 

Boy. She be on'y a poor girl, my Lord. 

Victor. Only a poor girl ! why you are a mere brute. Being a 
poor girl is the greatest claim slie has to your protection. 

Boy. [Surlily] I didn't know, my Lord, but I thought I war 
doing my duty. The Marquis be very particular, and your lordship 
dunno but this vagram has been snaring rabbits or hares. She be 
trespassing here. 

Victor. [Impatiently.] You are a fool! Go away; and re- 
member, the next time you have to speak to a poor girl, to do it 
kindly, or your insolence, rudensss, and brutality ' may m^t come 
off quite so cheaply as it ddes now. Go ! away with you ! [Scowl- 
ing at Floret, Boy exits at r. ) 

Floret. [Aside gazing admiringly,] Oh, what a handsome 
young man, 

Victor. [Advancing.] Well, she's got [aside] a deuced pretty 
face if she is dressed in rags. [To Floret.] Well my little girl, 
what are you ? 

Floret. [Bashfully] A poor girl. 

Victor. Yes, so I perceive ; but — but how do you get your 
living? 

Floret. How do I get my living? [Hesitatingly,'] Well sir — 
Well, I aint getting a living just now. I'm running away from 
Daddy Windy, but when I was with him I used to sell flowers. 

Victor. Such as those you ha^ve in your hand ? 

Floret. \_Half smiling.] No, these are but wild flowers. I 
arranged them to amuse myself. 

Victor. [^Approvingly] They are very pretty, [a.mle] and so 
is she — the cunningest little thing I ever saw. 

Floret. [Tendering tliem.] Please take this boquet? [Victor 
smiles.] Do not scorn It; do not seorn it, [earnestly] I beg of you. 
If I am a poor girl, I can feel that you have saved me from a 
blow from the stick of that cruel fellow who has just gone away, 
and I wish to give you something for sending him away. It is all 
I have. I have nothing better, or else I would give it to you. [ Vic- 
tor takes it.] 

Victor. I will accept it with pleasure, and keep it, too — aye, 
as long as I live. 

Floret. [Joyously.] As long as you live ? Will you? Oh, 
I am so pleased. 

Victor. And why are you pleased my pretty child ? 

Floret [Hesitatingiy.] I dont know, per — per — perbaps.it is 



4 FLORET, OB 

because — because no one so rich and so hand — handsome as you 
are was ever so kind to me as you have been. 

Victor. [.Laughing.] Where do you live ? 

Floret. Nowhere — anywhere ; the Daddy and Grannam are 
always traveling about, and they never stay long anywhere. 

Victor. What is your liame '? 

Floret. [6'acH^.] The Poor Girl! 

Victor. Yes, I know ; but what is your Christian name ? 
[Eindli/. ] 

Floret. [ThoiigMfully.] The Daddy sometimes calls me 
Floret, but I jn-efer the name of the Poor Girl. 

Victor. But why should you like that not very acceptable 
title ! 

Floret. Because, it is the name by which I was known when 
I was a child — a very little child — and [bashfully.] becau-se — be- 
cause— you took my part because I am a poor *irl. [Suddenly.] 
What is your name ? 

Victor. [tiDdlhig] I am called Victor. 

Floret. It is a pretty name — I — I shant — well I shant forget it. 

Victor. I am glad of it. Do you know that you are veiy 
handsome and loveable — but I must be going as I was in a great 
hurry when I came here — here, give me your hand [takes it] You 
may stay here and enjoy yourself as long as you like. I hope we 
shall meet again. Won't you give me a kiss? [bends over.] 

Floret. [Turning quickly.] No! no! I can't aWoyf \hdiX [ dry- 
ly] 'cause you know I aint old enough for that yet. 

Victor. [Laugliing.] Well, well. Since j^ou wont. [In- 
quiringly.] You're quite sure you wont? [Floret shakes her. 
head.] Nevermind, good bye, my little lady, good bye. [Aside.] 
I must not inform her, because she would take to her heels at 
once, but I saw that Gipsy ruffian, from whom she is escaping, as 
I came liere. I will go and divert his attention in a false direc- 
tion and then retiu-n and renew my conversation with this 
strange child. [E..-ifs at n. 

Floret. [Follou'lng him unth her eyes.] O, thanks, thanks, 
kind sir, for your kind words to me, a poor, poor ragged Gipsy 
girl, and you a rich hand.-.Oine lord. (Wonderingly.) But I won- 
der if he is a Lord ? Yes, he must be, for that ugly man who 
would have struck me with his stick called him erne O, I wish I 
was an angel, with silver wings, and flowing robes so that I might 
be near him all the time, (looking at Iter rags — dryly) but I aint. 
He is the only one who ever spoke a kind word to me except Liper 
Leper, and he has always been kind to me amd protected me from 
Grannam when he could. (Sadly) I wish that I were dead for 
no one in this wide, wide world cares for poor, poor Floret. 
{Throics herself on the ground and weeps bitterly — then looks up 
and brushing away the tears. ) Ah ! me I wish he had not seen 
me as I am. Why can't I have better clothes ? Wliy am I always 
to be a poor girl ? ( Passionately) I wont be. I will speak to 
Liper Leper and ask him where I can get clothes like the fine la- 
dies dress in, so that. If those bright eyes look upon me again, 



THE POOR GIRL. 



the handsome lips beneath them shall not curl in scorn, and mut- 
ter, she is a poor girl — a poor, ragged flower girl ! Victor, Victor, 
beautiful name; if I could write that name on my heart as love- 
sick folks are said to cut them on trees, I would do it. But I 
wonder what is meant by lovesick. I must ask that, for O, I feel 
now so sad and weary and sick about the heart. I will ask Liper 
Leper if I can see him, for I will not ask Granuam. I will not go 
back to Daddy and her any more. 

(Fromc. Liper Leper a tidily and neatly dressed young Gipsy 

has entered silently as she sptoke the last sentence, and touching 

her lightly on the shoulder.) 

LiPEK. (Bending.) Where will you go, Floret? (Quietly.) 
Where will you go ? 

Floket. (Jumps up frightenedly,) Oh, Liper how you fright- 
ened me. I thought it was Vic — (confusion). I mean I thought 
it might be Daddy. {Takes his hand — both sit down together.) 
I do not know who'e to go. Where shall I go ? 

Liper. The Daddy and the Gl-rannam are hunting about for 
you, like two mad folks.' Will you not go to them ? 

Floret. (Finnly.) No; I would sooner throw myself into 
yonder pool among the water-lilies than go back to them ! 

Liper. But if you run away from the Daddy, what can you 
do? (Pertinently) Where will you go ? Have you any money ? 

Floret. (Sadly). No ; how should I have any money? The 
Daddy takes all the money I receive and keeps it. No ; I can see 
— I can see [Sadly^it is best for me to die, then I shall not vex the 
Daddy and Granuam any more; then I shall not be obliged to sell 
any more flowers; then I shall be at peace, and my heart will be 
no more sad and weary, because then I shall care nothing about 
these rags, and grieve no more that 1 am a poor girl ! 

Liper. ^Soothingly.] You must not talk of dying. Floret. 
You are a child, and you do not know what it means. Your life 
was given you to preserve, not to throw away because you happen 
to be poor and ragged. You know that there are many poor and 
ragged as well as you. I am poor — 

Floret. [Quickly.] But you are not ragged ; yet you do not 
dress like — like — a young lord. [Liper laughs.] Do not laugh. 
[Impatiently.] I do not like to be laughed at, it makes me angry. 
I tell you, Liper, that you do not dress like a young lord; but yet, 
though I like a lord's dress better than yours, you are clean, and 
you wear boots and stockings. I do not. Daddy will not let me, 
because he says it spoils the sale of flowers. [With energy and 
suddenly.] Liper, I would rather die a thousand, thousand, 
thousand times than live always this hoixid, ragged object. I 
shall be a woman some day, and — [with a sudden scream.] I wont 
live like this any longer. [Jumps up and runs towards pool. Ll- 
per qiuckly folloxos, catches Iter by both lorists, and amid her strug- 
gles and sobs br'tngx lier back.] 

Liper. Be patient. Floret, 

Floret. [Passionately.] I won't! I want to die. I will 
die? 



6 FLORET, OR 

LiPEB. Do you Avant to run into Daddy's arms? He is not 
far off, hunting for you about the very spot to which you were 
running. 

Floket. ^Leaning her head upon his shoulder, and iveeping.] 
Liper, [almost inarticulately] you liave always been kind to me — 
lentreatini/.] Take me, O, take me somewhere now, where I 
shall not be the miserable wretch I am. l8obbing.'\ 

LiPEB. [Soothingly.] I dont know where to take you, Floret. 
I can watch over you and protect you from ill usage, but I know 
of no place to which I can take you where you will be better oft" 
than with Daddy AVindy. 

Flobet. [^Firuily.] Then I will go alone. 

LiPEE. That you cannot, for wherever you go, I shall follow 
you, and save you from harm. 

Floeet. [Earnestly.^ Then save me from harm now, for if 
you take me not away from Daddy to some place and to some peo- 
ple who will give me better clothes, I will not live. Y©u cannot 
prevent me seeking my long, Kmg sleep beneath the grassy turf, if 
I determine that you shall not. [Li})er moved.] Liper, you have 
a father and mother. \_Hand upon /li.s arm.] You have, when we 
have sat together in the still night watching the stars move si- 
lently and slowly across the heavens , as if they were so many 
bright eyes watching us where we sat, spoken of brothers and sis- 
ters, too. You have separated yourself from them, I know, but 
you could go to them if you would. You have somebody to love 
and tliink of — somebody who loves and thinks of you. I have no 
one — {sadly) no one in the whule world to care for me. Have 
pity on me, for my heart is breaking! (Cries violently.) 

Liper. (Bewilderment.) What can Ido? 

Feoret. (Looking up ihrowj/i. her tears.) Do what your heart 
prompts you! You have always been good to me, although you 
gained nothing by it but my thanks and my liking — for I like you, 
Liper. We can't help liking those who are kind tons. Take me 
away Liper, and I will work very, very hard indeed, if only I can 
earn a little money to clothe myself, so that I will not seem so hor- 
ribly mean and poor as I do now. 

Liper. (Suddenly. ) Come along. Floret, I will run the risk! 
I will take you away fnjm the Daddy. We will leave him and the 
(irannam to a week's sleepless anuisement in this neighborhood, 
hunting, and I will lead you where I hope you will be able to have 
your wish. 

Floret. (Jum})ing about joy ou.^ly, clapping her hands.) O, 
will you! Lii)er? I'm so glad, and you're so good. 

Liper. Come, let's go, for it's getting late, and we must be far 
from here to-morrow iuorning. (Gohiij, both.) 

FLOiiET. Yes, I know, {fumps aboiit,) hut— hut, O, I feel so 
good; d^auses suddenly;) but stay, Liper, I want to ask you some- 
thing. Tell me, are you lovesick? 

Liper. (Amazed.) What do you mean ? (They return.) 

Floret. [Thoui/hf/ully. \ I don't know, I would like to know. 



THE POOR GIRL. / 

LiPER. [Shakiny his head — bitterly. \ I think not. 

Floret. Yes, indeed I sliould ; and I will tell you why. I 
have seen you wander into a shady nook, and throw yourself up- 
on the grass, and press your hands upon your temples, and sigh, 
oh ! so sadly. I have often crept after you when you have done 
this, and listened to your mourns, beeaui^e I have felt sori«y for 
your pain. I used to think that your head ached, and|I have 
asked Grannam to give you something to do you good, and she 
used to laugh at me with that rough, hateful laugh of hers, and 
tell me that you were love-sick. Tell me how you feel when you 
are love-sick, Lii^er? 

LiPEB. {iSorrowjulhj.) I cannot explain these things to you 
Floret. (Grarebj.) Alas for you ! You will most likely come to 
know the pain only too soon. 

Floret. {Persistently.) But tell me, Liper only this, is it a 
pain about the heart after you have seen some person you like 
very much — oh ! better far than any other person you have ever 
seen in the whole world — a pain which comes when you know 
that they do not, cannot, will not care for you — never, never, oh! 
never? 

LiPER. (Shrugging ?iis shoulders.) You are not so far from 
the mark. White Rose, (Sighs.) 

Floret. (^Takes his hand and looks earnestly info his face.) 
I know now what being love-sick is. i^Dryly.) I'm sorry your 
love-sick, Liper. 

Liper. {Laughing outright.) You are a droll girl, Floret, 
but it is getting dark, (stage has gradually darkened) and "we 
must be on our way. ( They start. ) 

Floret. (Stooping and picking a flower.) There is money, 
Liper. [Joyously. ] 

Liper. [Clapinng his hands,] lam a fool — a fool! Why, 
that is the way you have made the Daddy rich. O, Floret, call 
me Liper no more, but fool. 

-Floret. [JiJniotion.] No, Liper, not fool, but friend — the 
only friend the Poor Girl has in this world — this great, huge, 
sorrowful world ! [About to exit at c] 

lEnter Davdy and Grannam at c] 

Daddy. Sixteen bunches a penuee, sweet lavender. [Chuck- 
iing.] Here's a sweet and pooty bowpot, all a blowin' and 
a growin'. 

[Floret shrieks with fright, turns and flies toio((rds f. Gran- 
nam follows quickly, siezes her savagely and roughly drags 
her back, wlien she sicoons. Liper has started forvKird to 
grappAe with the Daddy zvho quickly draws a knife, siezes Li- 
per at arms length and raises Jiis knife, which is the signal for 
the change of scene.'] 

Scene II. A by-path or lane. Trees in back ground. Enter 
Hagar Lot at j., a darkfaced liandsome Gipsy girl in a neatly 



\ FLORET, OR 

fitting and attractive though wild appearing costume. Liper 
following. 



Hagae. I will detain you but a moment, Liper, but I want 
you to do me a service and thereby to earn my kindest thoughts 
and best wislies for you, Liper. I beg it of you as a deep and 
everlasting favor. Will you deny me, Liper ? 

Liper. [Hearty earnei^t tone.'] Hagar, I'll give my life for 
you. 

Hagar. [Taking Ms hand.] It is simply and only this, Liper. 
You have been always kind to that child whom I left with the 
Daddy, while the Daddy and the Grannam have at all times 
been cruelly unkind to her, so much so that her little body could 
bear no more, and she, as you already knew, made a frantic but 
futile effort to escape, notwithstanding your strenuous exertions 
in her behalf. On the whole it is well that you failed, but I ask 
you in future to keep watch over hei-, snatch her from ill usage, 
and save her from death should it ever come near to her. You 
will know how to do this and yet live as you always have lived. 
You will not refuse me, Liper? 

Liper. I will do as you desire, Hagar, even though it costs me 
life itself. 

Hagar. Thank you Liper. I can depend on you, and now 
farewell for the present. Go and tell Daddy Windy that I want 
him instantly. [^Liper shakes her hand, kisses it, and exits L. 
Hagar paces the stage thoughtfully until the entrance of Daddy, 
whichis almost instaiilli/,J'ri>in l.] 

Daddy. \_Iii a lone <\f iuqniry.] Well Hagar, my dusky flower 
o' the dell, you conunaudcd and I am here? 

Hagar. ' [Sternly.] You did well to retake that child to- 
day, for although you saw me not, yet I was close at hand, but 
has the bonny wild buck become a wolf? Has the eagle changed 
to a vulture? Has the quiet, wise owl been transformed likewise 
into the savage kite ? You and the Grannam wei-e shamefully 
rough in your dealings with that cliild to-day. 

Daddy. [Cringiug mein.] Hagar, my 'ood-wi' let. I saw the ' 
bii-d lly away, an' I was eager to catch it before it got away alto- 
gether, lu my flurry, I was, perhaps, too rough with the chick, 
pooty little pet. I am wery sorry, my blossom — wery sorry. 
'Tvvarn'tmy fault — 'twas my veakness. 

Hagar. [ Wacing her hand and her aspect of countenance pecti- 
liarly fierce.] Enough, Daddy. I have a weakness, too, you 
knoAV. It will not do for your weakness and mine to clash. Lis- 
ten tome, Daddy, and heedfully too. 

Daddy. I will, my blooming fox-glove. 

Hagar. When I brought this child to you I told you your 
part w<juld be to bring hei" up as if she were your own — to look 
after her and care for her kindly too — until some day she may be 
claimed by those who can pay you liberally. That may be never-; 
but if it ever should come the sum must be large indeed which 



TUE POOR GIllL. y 

those wlio seek her would refuse to pay. [ F"er// ■•itenily.] JIow, 
sir, have you obeyed my eomiuauds? 

Daddy. [Somewhat defiaiUli/.] Eat Hagar, 'ooinau, s'po'siu I 
was talking ail ahjue to myself aud I sliould say — 'member 1 say 
only s'posin — Here's a kinchin lor you, parduer, 'vieh you 
never axed for, which vill cost a prec'ous siglit more to keep 
than your own self. You never vas axed vether you vould 
take charge of it, but you 'ad your breath knocked out of 
yer body by being informed that you uuist take it an' keep 
it for veers an' yeers, vith a promis' o' payment on some 
thirty-second day of December in the year ten thousand and 
eleventeeu, about a yeer arter the last man has driven hiss'f out o' 
his min' an' inter a whirlpool — though ter be sure the party did 
intimate that you might occasi(nially see the color of sum suv'rings 
— but never a lia' penny yet. That s what I say my black daliah. 

HaoAR. [tilowlt/ and euiphaticaili/.l If you refuse to do 
Avhat I ask of you, how far do you think your life will extend in- 
to the next century ".' Will you live until the end of this week, 
even? 

Daddy. iSiukUnli/ trembling and resuming his old cringing 
manner.'\ I — I — know — 1 know, Queen of the starlight race, 
tiiat you have received the secret of death-dealing or life-giving 
from the most ancient 'ooman of our tribe! I know't — I know't! 
I'm avake — vide, stark, staring avake ! Vot do you vant me to 
do? I'll do it. 

[Hajar draws J'rom her pocket a small canvas ba-j and pours 
into the palm of her hand a portion of its contents — bri'jht golden 
coins. Daddy with, a look of intense avarice draws near to her 
with a steulthty, crouching movement and is ab nit to spring upon 
Hagar. ] 

Hagak. [Suddenly whips out a lonij slender bladed knij'e.\ 
Stay where you are. Daddy. Stay where you are my man. lUuddy 
trembling fearfully.] I know you would hesitate at no crime — if 



steps nearer to her, bat she raises tier knife and clieclcs liim.\ But 
I propose to give tlrem to you by degrees for the keep and proper 
treatment of this child. 

Dadj)Y. [Gibbering.] Why — why — why — w — w — w — why not 
all at once? Why not? .Save so much time, my heath blossom! 

Haoah. ^Virodg.^ T^viJ! ]>ay you wiieti ^:itistiod that you 
have act-^d |..\\anl tlv liirl" disowned a^ I \\\<\\ ymi i.i do. I of- 
fer you two wuy< ot luiyiuf'ar. Thi?. if >oii do :i~ i l>id \oii |A-./</- 
ing up tJte ijnlO'i. 'I'liis, if you doiit [lioldingv/, II, >■ k,iiir.\ 

Daddv. [Trembling.] \V-v,-w-w-w-what do you — w — w — 
w— wan! nic to do? 



10 • FL(XRET, OB 

Hagar. I placed that child in your hands. I shall some day 
take it from you again : meantime, I expect you to treat it kindly. 

Daudy. [Sug:/rsfiv('ly.] Make a little lady on it? 

Hagar. [Impatient ly\ Nothing of the kind. Bring it up how 
you like; make it do anything to help you live. I care not what; 
but no blows, no rough words, no pinching, no starving. All 
the rest I leave to you. 

Daddy. {Eajerly.) Then you dont vant me to make a lady 
o' the flower? 

Hagar. I do not. She has been bred so far in poverty ; let 
her remain so, but mark me. Daddy, if the Grannam attempts to 
be cruel to this wild blossom, I will hold you to account and pun- 
ish you for it. 

Daddy. O' course, I knows that. I've allers bin punished for 
the old 'ooinans doin's. I could' nt ask you to stop it by givin' 
her a scratch vith the pint o' that ere knife o' your'n, in part 
payment for the kinchin there. 1 could'nt, could I? For! if 
such a haccident vas to 'appen, 'au the head of the ole bulrush 
vas to fall, I don't think — mind, I say 1 don't think — I should ask 
for any more payment for may-blossom there. 

Hagar. [Laconically. \ We understand each other? [Go- 
iwj.} 

Daddy. Veil, if 'avingyer own vay is onderstandin' yer, o' 
course I does. 

Hagak. [Taming.'] Very well, then, remember my life hangs 
upon hers. If her star shoots to the earth, mine will fall too, and I 
shall perish. But I must live— live to satisfy the yearnings of hate! 
I must live for revenge — for vengeance ! Do not, therefore, you, 
Daddy, harm a hair of this child's head, or do one thing to en- 
danger her life. If you do, the lightning stroke, which cuts 
down the strong oak as if it were frail reed, will not be swifter 
than the descent of this knife, guided by my hand, to your body, 
even though I fall dead in striking the blow. Farewell until we 
meet again. \_ExU.h at R.] 

Daddy. [Looking after her.] Vich I cert'ly 'opes vill be 
never no more — never no m(n-e. Let 'er go — she's like a nettle 
blossom — werry pooty to the eye ; l)ut she stings yer fingers if yer 
touches her. Hagar's a' norful 'ooman, a' norful 'ooman. 

Grannam enter.-; hurriedly from L. 

Grannam. Hurry up ole man o' all, hurry up. C'loriform 
dont las" forever. The brat is wakin" up. Come quick. 

Daddy. I'll come, my Diana. I'm coming, but remember 
arter this to speak kindly to that kinchin, or Doctor Ashplant 
[.shaliing his stick Kiijnificuntly at her\ vill be thinkin' yer needs a 
dose o" vissick, 'an yer does'ent like vissick, do's yer, my Diana? 
She musn't be licked or knocked about, for she's the werry little 
article as vould lay herself to soak to death in a mill-pond. Do 
you understand me, Diana? [Bot/i exit quickly at i..] 



THE POOR GIUI,. 11 



Scene III. A bare and cheerless attic; door on r and l; ttvo or 
three old' and broken chairs in the room; at back, a table; on it 
an old broken lookiny ylass and a junk bottle, in which is stuck 
a piece of lighted candle; near center, back, a icindoio open. 
IStaye darkened. 

lEnter at L. Graxnam folloived by Baddij loho carries rather 
than leads Floret, toho is struggling and crying angrily ; 
Baddy forces her to sit in a chair.] 

Grannam. [Harshly.] Now old man o' all, I hope yer satis* 
fied, now yer got 'er back. She needs a good basting, an' I'll 
gi' 'eroiie, too, afore long — I'll 

Daddy. [Going towards her.] Hush, yer lolly-gab old 
'oomnw [angrily] or I'll gi' yer a dose o' phissick, you old hag, 
so look out an' keep yer tongue in out o' the cold. [Goes to 
Floret who is sobbing upon the back of the chair; sits by her side.] 
Now do be [coaxinyly] quiet, my primrose, my rose of the walley, 
my night blooming cereus. If you will stop crying an' be quiet 
an' good, you shall go down to Asct^t t(j-morrow an' be dressed 
like a fairy princess. 

Floret. [Suddenly.] Daddy will you promise [looks at him 
searchinyly] faithfully — [earnestly] faithfully promise me, that I 
shall, if I stop with you, dress like a fairy princess ? If you 
will, why [dryly] I'll— I'll see. 

Daddy. [Eagerly.] Yes, yes, my little doe of the dell. 
Promise you faithfully ? o' course I will. I'll promise you any- 
thing if you'll only be a good an' obejent primrose, and never 
[hypocritically] run away from poor old Daddy again. [Looking 
towards Grannatn.] I'll make a lady on her, I vill, my Diana. 

Grajjnam. [Snainshly.] Your'e growiu' foolish an' sappy 
old man of all, an' you'll make a fool o' Floret a'fore you're done 
vith 'er. 

Daddy, [To Floret.] Vy, booty, you dont know vot you vos 
running from ven you tried to run away from me. Vy, you run 
away from a real 'ord [Floret looks at him eagerly] who vos very 
much took up vith you. Yes, he said you had a' mazing pooty 
face, and a werry sweet woice, for he heerd you sing vile you vos 
avoshin' your pooty little feet, an' ven he saw you again he vos 
goin' to gi' yer some money. 

Floret. [Impatiently.] I dont want his money; I hate his 
money; [aside] but I like him ever and ever so much. {Then to 
Daddy.) Did you hear me Daddy? {Vehemently.) I say I hate 
his money. 

Daddy. (Greedily.). But 'ere is a party who could a' put up 
vith jest as much on it as he vanted to get rid on, they vos all 
bright new goolden suv'rins as he brought out o' his veskit-pocket. 
Varnt they, my Diana? {!She yrunt^ as.'<e)it..) Ah! the sight 
o' them made my fingers ache, too, as if the'd just bin an' caught 
the reumatics. I 'eld out my 'and for half a pint on 'em if he 
felt like giviu' them away, but he didn't seem to let go on 'em. 



12 FLORET, OU 



He wanted to give 'era to you, Floret; he vanted to see you again, 
and he said he hoped he should. 

Floret. [Pleased.] O, did he. Daddy, did he — did lie say so, 
Daddy? OhI I'm so glad. {Twistin:/ about joyfully.) 

Daddy. Yes ; au' he said he vanted to see you in a better 
dress. An' he vould give a handful of money to see you in tine 
clothes, for he vos sure you would look like a booty then. 

Flobet. {Muslnrjlij.) Ah ! me I wish he had seen me in line 
clothes instead of those soiled and ragged ones; {suddenly) but I 
would'nt touch his money. I'd throw it in his face. Fd (pauses 
thowjlttfully) O, no, I wouldn't, either, because that would be 
rude, and he was so kind to me ; (detenuinedly) but I would re- 
fuse to take it, though. 

Daddy. So ve vent in search on you to bring you to 'im, and 
a pretty blessed run on it, to catch you, ve've had ever since. 
(Sneeriai/ly.) O' course the young lord ainta stopijin' in the 'ood 
now, and o' course, through your vilfuhiess, youv'e been an' gone 
an' lost a toppin' chance o' making a heap o' money. 

Floret. {Archly.) But we m ly see liim again. Daddy. {A- 
side. ) O ! I hope I shall. 

Daddy. Yes, my lily o' the walley, an' so ve may, preraps, see 
two Sundays come together in von veek; but the odds are ve shall 
not. But never mind, never mind, my vite crocus, ve shall get on 
wery veil arter this little spin, I dessay. (Rising.) Now you jes' 
Avait 'ere, my little spring floweret, a minute or two. Yer vont 
(doubtiwjly) run avay again, vill yer, for yer knows I'm goin' to 
dress yer like a little fairy princess. 

Floret. O, no. Daddy, (earnestly) I wont run away now. 
Daddy. No, I kuowed it; yer wouldn't leave yer poor old Dad- 
dy again. I'll be back in a minute, floweret. (To Grannam.) Come 
along, old 'ooman. {Grannam shakes her tist at Floret. Daddy 
jiushes her. Both exit at R. ) 

Floret. O, no, I wont tiy to run away now, (risinj,) for Li- 
per is not here now, and without him it would be useless; but lie 
will follow me and find out where I am, to shield and protect me, 
I know. {T/iou'jhtfully. I wonder if I shall always be a poor, 
ragged girl. (Earnestly.) O, I would like good clothes, and be 
clean and nice. I would work so hard if I only could. (Sudden- 
ly.) 1 dont believe I am that old man's child, aUhougli he says i 
am, or he wouldn't makti me sell flowers, and let me be Ijeaten by 
that old woman; but he's grown mighty good all at once. I dout 
un<lerstand it. (Trying to renie)n,ber.) Sometimes I seem to i\'.- 
member — a wild stormy night, a dark looking woman, and a — an- 
other — a nice, well-dressed lady, and I kneeling at her feet, crying 
and sobbing, and then — and then it all goes away; but it must have 
been a dream. O, how I do wish I could remember if nil. for th<^ 
lady was so splendidly dressed, and I Inivn dreumed >>\ iiLiving 
with lots of little girls and bays. (Joyous exijre--<xii';i.) Ii w.i- s. 
nice. I wish I could dream it all the time, it was S'j jWly. 

Enter Daddy, dancing and rubbinr/ his /tands. 



THE POOE GIRL. 13 

Daddy. {Chuckling). My vite rose blossom, ve may be 'appy 
yet. I've jest thought of a vay to get 'old o' some goolden suv- 
riiis, jest a few; and do you know vot I'll do vith 'em? 

Floket. (Listlessly) No. 

Daddy. Guess. ^ 

Floret. (Peevishly.) I dont want to guess; it would trouble 
me. 

Daddy, Then I'll jest tell you vot I'll do vith that money — or 
same as it — I'll buy some bootiful flowers made o' muslin, all 
painted and colored, jest like the real thing, on'y they vont fade 
and die as the nat'ral vones does. Veil, you shall make yoursel" a 
pooty wreath o' them to twist round your bootiful head, my peach 
blossom; and tlien I'll buy you some splendid blue stuff for a 
frock — light blue, vith silver stars upon it, eli ! 

Floeet. [Jumps about, elappinij her hands.] Oh, how lovely! 

Daddy. Yes, yes; an' you shall 'ave a jiooty little cloak — a 
scarlet cloak — Little Ked Riding Hood. [Laughs and rubs his 
hands, while Floret expresses her delight in the most extravagant 
manner.] Ho! ho! ho! A Little Red Riding Hood. And tlien 
I'll buy some ra'al woolen stockings to keep the little legs warm: 
and then my sweet-smellin' mayflower shall have on its little ten 
toes a pair o' slippers made o' kid, ra'al kid, none o' yer conunon 
calf skin, but ra'al, pooty blue kid. [Floret has been continually 
acting her delight.] 

Floket. [Joyful anticipation.'] Oh, Daddy, what makes you 
so good ? 

DzVDDY. Yes, an' veuyour'e dressed jest like a furrin princess 
or a fairy angel ve'll go down to Ascot to the races, an" you shall 
sing to the svells, an' they vill give you suv'rins an' bank notes, 
as much as ever you can carry ; and when that young lord — 

Floret. [Childish delight.] Victor ! shall we see Victor ? 

Daddy. [Not understanding.] Wictory! O' course ve shall 
be wictors ; an' be rich an' ride in carriages, like hurls and dookes. 
Ha! ha! Floret, ve shall all be 'appy yet. An' the old 'oomau has 
gone for yer fixins to-night, to make yer aforrin princess to-morrow. 
[Dances.] 

Floret. [Jumps about; laughing joijnuxly.] O, we shall go to 
the races, and I shall see him, dressed just like a forrin princess. 
[Clapping her hands.] Butl,«ay, Daddy, [abruptly,] it wont take 
old Grannam long to get them, will it? I'd like to see them. 

Enter Grannam at L, with bundle, and throivs it violently at Floreh 
who quickly falls upon her knees and tugs excitedly to break the 
tough cord lohich binds it. 

Granxam. [Angrily.] There, now, you little beggar, I hope 

your'e satisfied now the old man has made a fool of Daddy 

quickly covers her mouth icllh his hand, pusJies her roughly into a 
chair. Graimam sputters and spits.] 

Floret. [Defiantly.] I aint a beggar, you ugly old woman; 
and some day I am going to be a fine lady. [Tugs wildly at the 



14 FLORET, OR 

bundle.] I say; why doiit you break! Wliydontyou come open, 
you ugly bundle I* iJunips up and runs excitedly round the room, 
tosslwj tlibvjs ooer and aside. \ Grive me a kult'e, quick, somebody! 
quick! quick! give me a kiiite! O, wuere's a kuUe! \_liatis back 
to the bumlLe and team the paper clear. \ O, I've got you now 
[&itiit«5'i!/J you ugly tliing. \±'ulls out the articles described as 
her dress beioto, except thejlouiers are Loose. \ Oil! Oh! aiut those 
splendid. Daddy, your'e so good now 1 dout understand it. I'll 
put them on right away. | Hugs them and kisses them, then drops 
them on thejloor, and os about co Loosen her dress. \ O, my! rignt 
[pausing] before you and lirannam. iHeriously,] O, no, tuat 
wouldn't oe proper. ll'ht.n.'cinj.\ But 1 know; i'U be right back 
[Picks the clothes up — joinjj i m going to the races dressed [Joy- 
ously \ just like a furrin princess, yj^xit at K.J 

DAOijy. [Decisioely.] j.Vow, old 'ooman, doiit you speak cross 
to the viterose any mjre; its tiie wrong game with that kinchin; 
if you blows her up sue vout do nothin , but cut and run agin 
the hrst openin she sees. If you coaxes her X dessay she'll tlo all 
ve'll ask her to do. ifou know, my Uiana, how much a kind 
word does with you. i'^ou knows, my London pride, it allers vent 
agin my 'art to rub you down wituDr. Ashplaut's emberkation, 
an' you allers said you felt yourself much vorse after the dose 
than afore it vos administered, en, my Diana, now didnt you? 
[She gives a significant grunt of assent.] O' course you did. Veil 
li'loret vill be a better child by coaxing tnan she vill by jawing her 
or jjushing or pounding her ; so you must coaxe her, my peony; 
coaxe her, because if taere is no vite rose there can't be no Jama- 
ker to squench your thirst, as was v/eaned on salt hsh. Do yer 
see, flowering black shrub; do yer see? 

(tbannam. bhe'sanorful wixin. I sees that, [impatiently] 
an' I sees that the older she get tne greater the trouble sae's like- 
ly to be to us. 

Daddy, i'e-raps, pe-raps, but the greater the profit she'll be, 
my fancy root o' the garden. 

Gbannam. [Grumbling.] Dont see it, dont see it; she vants 
'er own vay too much. 

Daddy. [Decisioely.] An' she shall 'ave it, an' she shall 'ave 
it. You jest be quiet, my sprig o' mint, you jest be quiet and leave 
it all to me. Youve' only to go an' do all L tell you, and ve shall 
be all riglit. Your thirst will never want for Jamaker to squench 
it. 

Enter Eloret gaily. She is dressed in an ill-fitting blue cambric 
dress; it is dotted entirely ooer with silver stars; on her Legs a 
2^air of blue yarn coarse stockings, and on her feet purple kid 
slijjpers; on her head a wreath oj made flowers. • 

Daddy. [Rubbing his hands and digging Grannam, loho is gaz- 
ing at her in disgust.] Here's a sweet and pooty bowpot (tiattering- 
ly) all a blowin' and a growin'. 

Floret. Ah! dont I look \\vce {svrv eying herself) such a 



THE POOR GIRL. 15 

splendifferous dress and these magnificent, cunning little shoes. 
(Looking towards tlie glass). Oi know what I'll do. {Jumps 
about laughing merrily.] I'll go and look at Floret in the glass. 
[Runs to the glass and tosses her head coquettishlg.] O, you did- 
n't think, [pointing to the figure,} did you, that you was going to 
be a t'orrin princess, [Laughing and shaking her head.] No, I 
know you didn't. You didn't think you was going' to Ascot to- 
morrow and see Victor; no, you didn't think that either; but per- 
haps lie wont speak to you, so you needu' t feel 30 good. No, no ; 
keep cool. Floret, keep cool, because — 

Daddy. [Impatiently.] Come, come, thou lily of the walley, 
my eye-bright, my pi-imrose, I want to talk to you. Clear out, old 
'ooman — go ! [_Exit Grannam, shaking her head and fist at Floret.] 

Flojket. [Going.] O, yes. Daddy; [pauses hesitallngly,] ahl 
now, Daddy, just one more look. [Kuns back.\ Here 1 am again, 
Floret ; I wanted to see how you was getting along in your cooling — 

Da_ddy. Come here. Floret, my sunbeam, my starlight, my daf- 
fadowndilly ; come here ; now do come and talk to its poor old 
Daddy. 

Floret. [Going.] O, yes, Daddy, [Looking regretfully,] but 
I do wish I could— [Turns.] Ah! Daddy. li>tarts.\ 

Daddy. [Out of patience.] Come, come, [tihe runs up to 
him and puts the wreath on his head, points' at him, jumps about, 
and laughs merrily.) 

Daddy. [Knuckles on his knees and grinning foolishly.) Six- 
teen bunches a penuee, sixteen bunches a pennee, sweet laven- 
dei'S. {^The lureath sliding o^' Itls head. As it does so she catches 
it and }) laces it upon her own, glancing at hint with a curiously 
proud triutnphant alr,as If demanding from him an opinion which 
she disdained to ask.) 

Daddy. It is a booty, a ra'al silver belled hy'cinth! O, ve 
shall all on us doat on a stream o' silver, in a goolden boat I see ! 
an' snowdrop shall sing to us, an' read out o' fairy books, an' cap- 
tivate a young lord ! 

Flokkt. {3Iusingly. ) A young lord ? 

Daddy. {_Gle(^ ully ]) Half a dozen of them, my daffadowndil- 
ly. Ah ! hall a score o' such as them. 

Flobet. {Thoughtfully.) No, I should like only one to be 
mine, mine. Daddy, to be mine only — to love me, and like me, as 
1 should love and like him. Daddy. 

Daddy. All a blowiu' and a growiu' ; softly and fair goes far, 
my snow-star. Ye must toddle afore ye gallops. You see, my 
pearl o' daisies, I've kept my promise vitn you. You've got a 
frock such as vould make a princess go out of her miml if 
she had to wear it, an' stockings, an' slippers— fairy slippers, like 
CindereUa's — (coaxingly) Daddy has spent a heap o' goolden 
suv'rins to buy ail these bootifui things for his voodbine and vild 
rose flower, an' ven he's been an' gone an done all these wery 
good an' kind things for her, {anxiously.) she aint a gom' to floor 
iiiiu by turning sulky, is she? 



16 FLORET, OR 

Floret. (Readily.) Oh, no, no, Daddy. 

Daddy. 'Cos if little birds vont sing ven they ort to sing they 
vont captiwate princes and young lords. 

Floret. (Eagerly.) Oh, I will sing, Daddy, I will, indeed. 
Indeed I will. (Entreatingly.) But dout let the Grannam come 
too. {Decisively.) I will never speak to Grannam any more. 

Daddy. (-Wheectliw/ tone.) The bile makes all on us cross, 
an' the Grannam' s had the bile wery bad, an' ven ve're cross ve 
should take phissick. I've given Gi'annam her physic. A wery 
strong dose — ^An she's better now, she's wery umble an' wery 
sorry. 

Floret. I do not care for her sorrow. I will not speak to her 
any more — and now. Daddy, I will go and get my flowers ready for 
tomorrow. {Exit n). 

Daddy. (Going to the window and looking out.) It'll be a 
bootiful day to-morrow, and the Vite Rose '11 keep her vord. I 
think I knows vere to plant her to make the most tin in the least 
time. To-morrow's to do it. To-morrow! I've heerd say that 
to-morrow's the day as never kim yet! Veil, ve shall soon know. 
I'll make my Diana tell my fortin' vith the cards 'fore ve an' the 
rats commence a scrummage for the night. She can see out o' 
von eye, an' she'll tell me vot's a comin' to me to-morrow. To- 
morrow! (Hand upon his heart). I dun no, but somehow I feels 
a load upon my 'art ven I 'eers myself say to-morrow. 

{Exits atR.) 

SCESTE TV. Front of stage; Out-door scenery; Enter a croiod of 
race co^irse people (sioells) including a pool .celling Auc- 
tioneer and two assistants, one of whom bears a card on a pole. 
The card is printed in large letters with the names of the horses 
which are to race, as follows : 

"Coup de Grace," "The Little Pet," " Lightning," "Tliunder Cloud," 
"Xoflies," and "Bay Qreenspecs." While the Auctioneer is arranging 
matters, tlie crowd" is busily engaged in malting outside bets as fol- 
lows — "Seven to four on the field, bar one!" "Four to one against 
Coup de Grace !" "Seven to one against The Little Pet." "Done!" 
"A pony even between Lightning and Thunder Cloud, one to start — 
Lightning for choice!" "A thousand to twenty against Noflies." 
"Done !" "I'll pay the odds against the fovorite !" "Six to four against 
the Bay Greenspecs !" "I'll take you." "Done." "Have it again?" — 
and so on. Tliis scene must be lively and exciting— money changes 
hands freely. A little boy is running about ci-ying out — "Cigar lights, 
only ha'pence each, Gents." 

Auctioneer. ^Standing on a .'^tool.] Now, gentlemen, if you 
will give me your attention I will offer you the thing in a legitimate 
manner. [They crowd about.] As you are all aware, gentlemen, 
we are obliged to assemble in this out-of-the-way and uncomforta- 
ble place because of that high-toned morality of the present day 
which prevents the selling of pools upon the track or within the 
grounds — a most unjust discrimination, allow me to observe, gents — 
[Applause.] But that is neither here nor there, for I'm going to 
start 'em right away. I'll sell 'em any way you like, gentlemen. 



THE POOR GIKL. 17 



How much am I offered fo,r the lirst choice ? There they are — 
[Points to ca>- d and calls the names over.] There's the "Little 
Pet" — she's a stayer, gents. In fact they are all bound to win. 
How much? Start 'em along.- How much for first choice? 

[High bids are made, the pool is sold, the assistant taking the 
money and returning written tickets. The urging by the seller and 
the bids by the crowd are repeated again and again ; the style of 
pool being varied each time continues sufficiently long to set the 
next scene. At last a bell is loudly rung l)ehind the scenes, when, 
with cries and yells of " They're off," " They're off," all exit on 
the run at k. The performers taking part in this scene should ac- 
quaint themselves thoroughly with the customs and methods of pool 
selling. During the selling the Mar(iuis has entered, and gazes 
upon "them with curiosity, occasionally making a bid, and having it 
given to him by name. After all exit he remains, with other peo- 
ple passing and repassing, and wandering listlessly.] 

Makquis. [^Musinjli/.] Well, what a set of maniacs they are' 
to be sure. 

■. Enter LoBD Nihila-LBUM keated and excited, from u. 

LoKD N. { Dressed as a fop and using eye-glasses.] By Jove! 
I'mjoothed glad I've met you, Wethchethtaw. I've been in the 
confoundeth thate of mind you can conthieve. Of cowath the 
Marthioneth hatli retawned to the cawaige? 

Makquis. {_Tartli/.] Of course her ladyship has done no such 
thing. What do you mean, Nihilalbum ? Her ladyship quitted 
tlie carriage i your charge ; where is she ? • 

LoKD N. Thath jetb it. That ith jetht what I can't pothibly 
underthtand. We tiitwolled down the coath ; I met the Earl of 
Brackleigh — 

Mabquis. (Interruptinf/ with jealousy.) The Earl of Brack- 
leigh, yousay? [£t/;/er/;/.l Well, did Lady VVestchestergo away with 
him? 

Lord N. O, no, we only nodded to each other, and I turned to 
Lady Wethchethtaw to mention a pleasant little matter, and by 
Jove! I couldn't find her. She had dithappeared, and I could 
not discovaw a twace of haw. 

MAiiQUis. [Anijrily.j This is a singular alfair — a most of- 
fensively unpleasant event. You, Nihilalbum, return to the car- 
riage, and I will seek elsewhere. I fear she may have been sub- 
jected to some insult. 

Lord N. [Goina.] By Jove! I cannot conceal from myself that 
the wlu)le thing is verwy wemarkable and confoundedly thtwange. 
[Exitatii.] 

Makquis. [Stoppiny tivo grooms in Uveri/.] Lady Westchester 
in promenading the course has by some mischance been separated 
from her friend. Proceed up and down the course, and should 
you observe her ladyship alone, conduct her to the carriage; should 
she not be alone, come and inform me at once of her v. ncieabouts. 



18 FLORET, OR 

[^Grooms making their salutations, exit. Marquis pacing the stage 
excitedly.} The Earl of Brackleigh. Mutteringly.] The Earl of 
Brackleigh. [Jealously. ~] His attentions to my wife are iusiiilera- 
ble. Wife '? She is no wife except in name. I love her to my 
soul's perdition, but she scorns me and tramples me under her foot. 
Spurns me and hates me — I, the proudest man in England. I have 
never dared to lay my hand on her even in pleasantry since the 
priest pronounced the woi'ds which should have, but did not, made 
us man and wife. Oh, I am convinced that I am right. [Deter- 
minedly.] I will not rest until I have discovered the truth or fals- 
ity of the suspicion which is burning my breast as if a fire were 
raging there. If my doubts are realized I will not spare him, at 
least. But I must be calm, calm to all outward appearance. [iJx- 
itat B.] 

Scene V. Stage light. Open spot in the midst of woods. A 
large entrance at back c, oval in shape, composed of branches 
and vinea interwoven; thronyh this entrance is seen in the far 
background portions of a race course and the judges' stand, 
around which are gathered a lot of men gesticulating ea);nestly. 
Enter Constance and groom simultaneously from opposite di- 
rections. 

PeA-COck. [Breathless from running.) My Lo— my Lord Mar- 
quis fears that your ladysliip has been unable to hud the carriage, 
and — 

Constance. O, Peacock! {with a gleam of pleasure) I am 
glad to find some on« t) conduct me to the carnage. I have been 
so distressed at not being able to hud it. (Going at c.) 

{Enter Lord Nihilalbum and Marquis.) 

Lord N. Oh'j Oh, Lady Wethchethtaw. {Marquis has turned 
Ms back with a mortified air.) O, upon my honaw, lam delighted 
to see you again. 

Constance. Not more delighted than I am, Nihilalbum; (cold- 
ly ;) you precipitated me into a most unpleasant position. 

Lord N. Weally, Lady Wethchethtavv, I cannot imagine how 
we became thepawated. It was the work of a moment. I believe 
a wude thcountlwelpathed between uth, and the next instant you 
had dithappeared. 

Constance. At least you had, my Lord. However, I could 
hardly have expected that your Lordship would keep your eyes 
constantly fixed upon me, {addressing Marquis, sarcasm,) but I 
did expect that Lord Westchester would liave accompanied me, 
and by his attention have prevented the possibility of my being 
placed in so unusual, so dangerous, so embrarrassinga predicament. 

Marquis. {Tundng.) 1 am glad to see {lioarsely) your lady- 
ship safely back again. Your ladyship's absence {biting sarcasm) 
has been the source of some anxiety to myself; but perhaps I 
ought to feel gratified that your ladyship lia-< escaped, in your 



THE POOR GIBL, 19 

wanderings, the insults of low persons, though fortunately com- 
manding the attentions of an individual with whom your ladyship 
was formerly on more intimate terras than of late years. 

Constance. (Curlft her Up acornfully.) I have been subjected 
to considerable inconvenience by the carelessness, not intentional I 
admit, of Lord Nihilalbiun {R-y bitterness,) and by your lordship's 
own indifference. 
M.'lKQItis. (Grandly.) Indifference, Madam I 
Constance. {Shruys her shoulders and laughs sarcastically.) 
Indifference, I said, my Lord, 

L Floret sings song — introduced behind the scenes.] 

Lord N. (Looking out at c. | Haw! Haw! Haw! (Uses 
glasses.) Pothitively the vewy newetht thing afloat — haw! haw! 
haw ! Weally ! Wethtchethtaw, but she things thweetly. Come 
here 'ittle vagrant. 

[Enter Floret, dressed in her best, followed by the Dadby — she 
is still singing and carries at her left side a basket of flowers. 
Constance observes her and becomes extremely agitated.] 
Marquis. Lady Westchester, pray observe yonder extraordi- 
nary child '' 

Constance. (Pale — looking in wrong direction.] Wliat 
child ? 

Marquis. You are looking in the wrong direction, Lady 
Westchester. I allude to yonder theatrically dressed girl, who 
has just been singing with such remarkable taste and sweetness. 
[Constance displays extreme agitation, but with a mighty effort 
fastens her eyes upon Floret.] What a singularly pretty child ; quite 
a little aristocrat among plebians, I declare. 

Floret. Tendering Constance a boquet. Please accept these 
flowers, lady. (Constance waves them aside.) O pray take them 
lady. (Earnestly.) 

Lord N. Pway acthept the thmall bouquet. Lady Weth- 
tchehtaw, its a doothed lame eggthample of the flowerth of fuuthy 
or art ; but then the little cweethaw who ofterths it ith quite 
unique. Nothing like haw to-day at Athcot, that I've theen, eh, 
Wethtchethtaw y" 

Marquis, You are right, Nihilalbuni. The little creature is 
unique. Do not disdain her little offering, Lady Westchester. 
Constance takes it and throws it one side, opens her purse, takes 
out a piece of money and tosses it into Floret's basket. Floret 
throws her head back,prodly and defiantly picks the money from 
among the itowers and thro^vs it at Constance' s feet. 

Marquis. (Aside.} My God! What similiarity in expres- 
si'>n. (Gazing earnestly at Floret and back to Constance.) 

Constance. {^Starting.) Why do vou toss back my gift, 
child ? 

Floret. [Gazing earnestly and fixedly upon her.] I will not 
take your money, lady. [Slowly. '\ 

Marquis. Why will you not taki^ the money of this lady? 



20 FLORET, OR 

Floret. [Hesitatinyly.] I do not know — because I wont, I 
suppose. 

Marquis. \_Persistently.] But you must have a reason. 
Constance. \_ScornfuUi/.\ If you have a reason, child, state 
it and relieve the solicitude of this gentleman. 

Floret. [Half proudly, half timidly.] I have one reason. 
I have seen you — seen you, lady, many, many times. 
Constance. [Laughs angrily.} Absurd. 
Marquis. Where have you seen this lady so many times ? 
Floret. [Gazing wistfully at Constance.] In my dreams, 
sir, only in my dreams; but then I saw the face of this lady so 
plain, so very plain, just as I see it now; but still it looked kinder 
and gentler to me than it did when the lady flung her money at 
me, it kissed me, and — 

Lord N. Haw I haw! haw! Weally; I've heard that thethe 
little peple are taught all kinds of lying thtorieth, but I never 
came acwoth anything of thith kind befavv. It ith weally 
pwepothtewouthly new. And though thith lady kithed you many 
thimeth, eh, httle — a — little — a little Awiel '? [Floret stands si- 
lently looking upon him with lofty scorn — the Lady laughs re- 
llevedly.] VVhat, you wont anthaw me "? Haw! ha! ha! I nev- 
er wath tho amuthed ; thow, little Awiel lookth cwoth upon me — 
haw! haw.' I thouldn't wondaw now, but if I were to otf aw you 
a pieth of gold, that you would anthaw me that you had theen 
me in youaw dweamth, and I had kithed you many timeth, eh? 
[Tendering her a sovereign.} 

Floret. [Angrily stamping.] I wont take any money from 
you! [Daddy writhes.] 

Lord N". Haw! haw! I thought tho. It ith coming round ath 
I pwognothticated it would. Lady Wethtchethtaw — aw ! aw ! — why 
will you not take money fi-om me, aw, little vagwant Awiel ? 
Floret. [Passionately.] Because I hate you, that's why. 
Lord N". Haw ! haw ! the witcheth thing pothhible, the vewy 
witchetht thing afloat — haw ! haw ! And, pway, why do you hate 
me — aw — aw, little flower elf ? 

Floret. [Flushed and angered.] Because you are a fool — a 
foppish, lisping fool. 

Daddy. [Beyond control.] Vite Rose, my pi-ecious little 
sprig o' sweet-briar, dontgo a cussin' the svell in that vay; speak 
pooty to him, my daisy, and he'll chuck you a pound as soon as 
look atyer. [Turning.] Ascoose the child, sir, my lord, she aint 
quite used to perlite serciety, sir, my lord: but she's a wery — 

Constance. Pardon me, my lord, but I'm fatigued by all this 
nonsense, and if you will give me your arm I will take a turn 
upon the course. 
Lord N. Aw — with inlinite playthaw. Lady Wethtchethtaw 
Marquis. I will attend you, Lady Westchester, if your lady- 
ship [decidedly] will favor me by granting me a nuinenfs pa- 
tience. 

Constance. (Bows assent.) We will await \-oiir conve- 
nience, my Lord Marquis. [Going.] 



THE POOR GIRL. 22 

Daddy. ]To Lord N., eagerly.] You vont go away, sir, my 
lord, vithout givin' the little Vite Rose hanisel, vill you? Out o' 
her proud 'art she vent and chucked that there lady her goold 
back again, as you seed — chucked von screamin' chance avay. 
Grive the little sprig o' lilac suthen to remember you by my uoble 
sportsman. 

Lord N. [Laughing, draws a handful of silver from his pocket, 
throws it into FloreVs basket. She casts upon him a glance in 
which disdain, dislike and contumely are commingled. The Dad- 
dy shakes his fist at her threateningly. | 

Lord N. [Picking a hunch from her basket and staring her 
hard in the face.] Verwy odd, cuwiothly thtwange that I should 
not have nothithed what a joothed lovely countenanth the little 
cwethaw hath. What a thplendid guwall she will be in anathaw 
two or three ye-awth. 1 mutht put my gwoom on to thith old 
man, who theemth to thpeak the language of llowoth, and learn 
moaw about the guwall. I pothitively must. 

[Exit Constance and Lord N. at c io r.] 
Marquis. [Condescendingly] What is your name, my little maid ? 
Floret, The Poor Girl ! 

Marquis. [Passing his hand over his forehead.] The Poor 
Girl ; I seem to have heard that name before, yet I cannot recol- 
lect where. The expression is common and 1 suppose it is that 
which makes it familiar to me. You have another name besides 
the appellation you have mentioned ? 
Floret. (Decisively.) I have not, 

Daddy. [Quickly.] Axept Floret — axejit Floret, my lord, I 
named her Floweret ven fust ve had her, for she vas as pooty as 
floweret as ever bloomed on God's 'arth, but my old 'oomau 
vould cut it short, an' call it Floret. I'm veak vith my old 
'ooman, my noble lord, I am, an' in this ere trifle I let her 'ave 
just her own way. 

Marquis. But that child is not your own daughter ? She can- 
not be. 

Daddy. Very veil, my noble sportsman. [Grinning] I s'pose 
you know best; but if she isn't a blossom o' my bough, she aint a 
bud o nobody else's, an' she ain't a going to be. 

Marquis. {Soliloquizing.) I caiuiot believe it. That child, 
wretched as her present position is, has no trace, no taint of the 
plebianin her. Strange— strange, the striking resemblance to 
Lady Westchester in the face of this remarkably beautiful va- 
grant? (Starts u-ith suspicion.) () my God ! my God ! Am I mad 
that such a thought should cross my brain. [L'xit c.| 

Daddy-. Kavin', aint he Floret? Vel), ve'Il jis lay round ere' 
till arter the race, ven ve"ll pull the suv rins out o' the swells. 
[Floret is standing ui o, looking towards l.] 

Floret. [Jumps about, laughs, claps her hands.] O, here he 
comes, here he comes, walking real fast and he'll have to go right 
by here, we'll see if he will pass and not speak to me. [Decisively] 
I guess not. [Runs towards front.] 



22 FLOEBT, OK 

[Enter Victor hurriedly. ] 

Victor. Here, I say old man, have you seen the Marquis of 
Westchester pass this way ? {Floret looks over her shoulder ner- 
vously.) 

Da-Ddy. He's just gone this minute my lord, jes gone. {Lays 
out atfidl length, lights Ids pipe, ayid presently falls asleep.) 

Victor. [^Quickly.] Oh, all right, all right, I merely wanted 
to— [Going.'] 
Floret. [Over her shoulder archly.] Ha — hem! ha — ^hem. 
Victor. Oh, by jovei there she is. [Goes to her, shakes her 
hand heartily.] I say, my little girl, do you remember Trentham 
Wood — The rudeness of an ignorant cub.— A small boquet of flow- 
ers, and— and — 

Floret. lEmbarrassed.\ Yes — Yes — Sir — my Lord. I do 
not know what to call you. I should be very, very sorry to of- 
fend you. 

Victor. (Loio tone.) Call me Victor whenever we are alone; 
{Floret is very joyous, turns her back and rubs her hands and seems 
hardly able to contain herself. Occasionally glancing at him cun- 
ningly) because we shall be sure to meet again, but whatever 
you think best before people. These are garden flowers, those 
you gave me were wild flowers. I think them quite as pretty as 
these. I have them still, ( Tries to look into her face. ) And I 
have thought of you every day. You do not speak. 

Floret. {Pressing her hands together.) I — I cannot. I do 
not know what to say. 

Victor. At least you can sing. I should like to hear you 
sing that song which you sung, and which sounded so beautifully 
in Trentham Wood. Sing the second verse — no ; that is, coni- 
mence at the beginning and sing the whole. 
Floret. {Quickly.) Would you like to hear me sing ? 
Victor. O, so very much, {hurriedly) indeed I should. That 
is why I asked you. {Looking over his .shoulder at the Daddy.) 
There is a gift for you — for you alone ; make use of it for my 
sake. (Gives ]ier a package.) Now sing, please. 

Floret. O, thank you. (Puts it in her bosom. I will trea- 
sure it forever. ( Sings. ) 

O, oranges, sweet oranges, 
Pulpy cheeks that p iep through trees, 
The crabb'dest churl in all the South 
Would hardly let a thirsty mouth 
Gaze at thee and long to taste. 
Nor grant one golden kiss at last 
O, oranges, sweet or 

{Enter Susan Atten, a middle-aged countrywoman, sudderdy from 
c; runs and grasps Floret wildly by the shoulders, gazing 
earnestly into her face; then catching her quickly to her bosom 
kisses her passionately. ) 



THE POOR OIRL. 23 



Susan. It is her — it is her. (Exullinghj) Found! found! 
God be thanked ! Harry ! — Harry ! Harry ! cwme to nie ; I have 
found her. 

Enter Habry, a stout young countryman. Hastens to them with 
a bewildered air.] 

Floret. Struggling frightenedly.] Who are you? Let me 
go ; I dont know you. 

busAN. O, yes! O, yes! \_Earrrestly.] Indeed, indeed you do. 
Listen, darling, listen. \_Sings tremulously.] 

Ye — yet che — cheeks ther — there are, 
Yet cheeks th — th — there are. 
Sweet — sweeter — O, good — good — 
Good God — 

— [lireaks down.\ Help me, O, help me now. Almighty Father. 
\Weej)ing, holding her arms out beseachlngly.] 

Floret. [Racking her brain.] Mamma Atten ! Mamma At- 
ten! 1 remember you now. O, dear, dear Mamma Atten. [Flings 
her arms around her neck and sobs joyously.] O, take me with 
you ; take me with you. 

Susan. Xever fear, darling, never fear. The queen herself 
should not take you away from me now. Harry, brother, if you 
ever cared for me be true to me now. I shall need your heart and 
your arm to help me. This, Harry, is the Poo — Poor Girl. Your 
poor sweetheart — 

Harry. [Turning up his cuffs quickly.] Lord! Lord! Poor 
Fanny Shelly' s child. She belong to Beachborough, an' to Beach- 
borough she shall go. [Very decidedly.] I'm darned if she dont. 
'Daddy awakes, and with a howl of rage rushes toward Floret.] 

Harry. [Grasping him by the collar, jerks him violently back.] 
[ think, [coolly,] I think not, old man ; not muclily. [Daddy foams 
'vith rage, struggles and kicks. Victor assists Harry.] 

[^w^er Hagar Lot at b, gazes at them, and exits at c] 

Harry. 'Come, now, Susy, you take the Poor Girl and take her 
away from the coui-se, for we must get out of 'ere, or this old ruf- 
fian will luive his whole pack upon us presently. But I'll attend 
to his case — I will, I'm darned if I dont. [Going.] Start quick, 
Susy, I'll meet you outside. 

Daddy. [Shrieking frantically .) Vite Rose — Vite Rose, my 
3wn Vild Rose, tell 'em I've brought you up as my own babby. 
Vite Rose, vere are you? Come to poor old Daddy, an' tell these 

willians I'm yer 

[Exit Harry and Victor with Daddy at R '6d E. ) 

Susan. Yes darling we will leave this horrid place and go 
home to Beachborough. You sliall never, never leave us again. 
(Floret clings passionately to her neek, kisses her. Exit at l. 

Enter Hagar Lot and Constance, 



24 FLORET, OR 

Hagak. Fear not, lady. [Ra'ja7' very tastefully dressed in 
Gipsy costume; is of a very dark complexion.^ I am here to serve 
you. Yoiir husband is too busily engaged in betting his money 
upon the races to miss you. 

Constance. {^Pale and ar/itated.] So I believe; but even 
though it were otherwise I must and will speak to you, let what 
will be the consequence ; yea, even though I knew he saw me. 

Hagab. I see that your strength of mind has lost none of its 
power. The nursing of a terrible secret sometimes eats into the 
nerres and destroys them, as a sorrow that cannot be cured preys 
upon the heart and withers it. 

Constance. \_Haufjhtily.\ You will remember, Hagar Lot, 
that your knowledge of my secret extends only to your service in 
removing for me a child from the custody of one set of persons to 
that of another; nothing more. Beyond that knowledge you must 
not seek to advance, and you need not think to work upon my fears 
by insinuating that you know more than I am convinced you can 
know. 

Hagak. I sought not you, lady, I coveted not the possession of 
your secret. I wished to see you again, net stimulated by any such 
motives as you fancy would urge me to seek you, but because I 
fancied that a nature such as yours could not be harder than the 
black rock against which the sea beats ceaselessly, and not in vain. 
I ask you no questions, lady. J tender you no suspicions. I tell 
you in plain language tiiat the Poor Girl is the daughter of Cons- 
tance Plantagenet ; that I know it ; and if you ask me for proofs 
I'll tell you that my eyes have furnished me with all the proofs T 
need. 1 have no design to betray your secret, but I thought that 
your proud nature, your stern and haughty spirit, had perhaps re- 
lented, and that you would have pitied the friendless child whom 
you had compelled to be a friendless outcast, and that you would 
at least help to save the innocent child from a life of wretched deg- 
radation ; and I ask you, in kindness to the poor child whom to-day 
you — 

Constance. {Impatiently.] Stay I I have listened to you in 
silence and with patience. Now, understand me — I wish you to 
listen to me, and to reply simply yes or no. I will pay you what 
you may demand of me, but you must do what I require of you 
completely and effectually. Without further explanation let me 
proceed to speak of that — \arjitated\ of that — that child whom yon 
successfully carried away from Beachborough, and who — 

Hagab. My lady, do you know — 

Constance, [^Sternly. ^ Silence! and listen to me! I have 
seen this child to-day ; it has started up like a reptile in my path. 
I must be secured from its occurrence again at any and every sac- 
rifice. It must never appear before me again. Do you understand 
me ? I say never ! 

Hagak. [ II 'tt/i a look of horror.] Am I understand, lady, 
that the life you gave you wish to take away ? 

Constance. [Slampiiig angrily.] You are to understand me. 



THE POOR GIRL. 25 



woman, that I wish no harm to the accursed thing. I care not 
how comfortable and liappy it may become. I should be — I cannot 
deny — glad — glad — glad it it were dead — yes, dead. { Overcome 
with emotion, but hastily brushes the tears away.] Happy, most 
happy,' if it had never been bom. But I wish it no harm — no 
harm. I would not injure it, no, though it were alone with me, 
and discovery of its death impossible ; but it must be removed en- 
tirely out of my sight, quite away from any place where I shall ev- 
er go, or may chance to go, where my name has ever been heard. 
It is all I ask. 

Hagar. [Scornfully, tauntingly.] The task, lady, is not so 
simple, nor so easy of accomplishment, as you seem to think. It 
might iiave been this morning, but it is not now. 

CoxsTANCE. [Eagerly.] What do you mean? 

Hagak. [Emphatically.} That the Poor Girl is no longer in 
the same hands she was half an hour ago. 

Constance. ]Consternation.] Explain. 

Hagab.] As I came by this spot to join you, lady, I observed a 
sudden commotion. I looked closer, although I had no intention 
of stopping at all, but I saw the Pour Girl in the arms of, and 
clinging to, a young woman. Near to her was old Daddy Windy, 
with whom the child has lived since I removed her from Beach- 
borough. He was struggling in the gripe of a powerful young coun- 
tryman. I waited to see no more, for 1 knew what had happened. 

Constance. [Tremblingly.] What? 

Hagab. The young woman to whom the Poor Girl clung was 
named Susan Atten. She was a friend of that poor murdered 
girl, Fanny Shelley, who assumed the maternity of that child at 
the cost of her life and good name, and she believes the child to be 
hers. By this time she is on her way to Beachborough. Daddy 
Windy will denounce me in order to set himself free, and if I am 
captured, lady, I shall be compelled to reveal all. 

Constance. [Fraiitically.} What is to be done now? 

Hagab. [Thoughtfully.] There is little to be done at pres- 
ent. To make any stir now would be fatal to both of us. I must 
keep out of the way, but I shall learn all that takes place at'Beach- 
borough. I do not hesitate now to lend myself to your wishes 
since I am assured that you wish the child no harm, because I 
think that a girl with no name had better for her own sake, bet- 
ter for her pride and her soul's sake, be placed where no one can 
ever know her origin or taunt her with it. 

Constance. [Agonizing emotion,] Oh! what shall I do? 

Hagab. Maintain your position proudly and haughtily as 
usual, lady. Maintain it as if you defied fate to do its worst. 
No discovery injurious to you can be made for some time. You 
must be proved guilty to be held so. I should advise you, lady, 
now to return to the races. If the story about the Poor Girl's 
being claimed should be told you, you will be prepared for it. 
But whatever inay happen, do not forget that you are still the 
Marcldoness of Westchester! 



1 26 FI.OJRET, OE 

Constance, [Intense surprise.] Oh God — she knows my 
rank. I thought — I thought — thait [Speaking with difficulty,] that 
— at least — was safe. [Totters as though about to fall. Hagar 
catches her in her arms, when she swoons. Hagar kneels upon one 
knee and gives a low whistle.} 

(Enter quickly— liiPER Leper /rojji E.) 

Hagae. [ Low quick tone.] Liper Leper, bend down and 
look well into the features of the haughty lady who lies here! She 
is the muther of the Poor Girl. 

END OF THE FIRST ACT. 

ACrr IL 

Scene I. Evening. Stage darkened. A well and neatly fin- 
ished farm house sitting room; at'L a door; on K and L of same a 
window; on K a door and on B of same a loindoio. Susan Atten, 
Harry, and Floret, dressed neatly as a young country-maid — 
discovered sitting around the siqiper table, all eating; on table 
are lighted lamps. Floret's former dress is hung upon the wall; 
Floret is happy and tirely; small bed in corner; also a Jlower 
stand with growing plants and Homers. 

Harry. [Mouth fall.} I say Susy, this aint altogether veal 
and ham pie, is it ? 

Susan. I am sorry, Brother, [Sadly] Your pleasure was so 
spoiled on yesterday. 

Harry. {Dropping knij'e and fork with amazement] Spoiled? 
Susy sister, spoiled ? What dost thee mean, girl? Why, I've 
never enjoyed myself so niiioh in my life. Dost thee forget how I 
nipped the dirty old gipsy blade, and he twisted and wiggled like a 
worm upon a fish-hook ? An' dost thee forget the pace we came 
down yon roatl to Beachborough, the mare swooping along like a 
deer with the hounds in full cry at her heels? Spoiled my day, 
Susy !— why, girl, it M'ould ha' been nothing wi' out all the fun 
we've hadf What dost {turning to Floret) thee say, little 'uu? 
thee hain't very unhappy at what's happened], be ye? 

Fjloret. Oh, hideed 1 am so very, oh, ^^so very, very happy 
now. 

Susan. [Placing her hand upon Floret's brow.] You had 
forgotten Mamma Atten. [Brushes away her tears.] 

Floret. [Thoughtfully.] Yes, quite, quite forgotten you 
until you began to sing to me, and then such a strange sensation 
came over me. It was as if a Hash of lightning had darted across 
my eyes and bUnded me, and yet at the same time I saw an old 
church yard, and a green grave beneath a tree ; I seemed to be 
kneehng by it and a face was close to mine, and it whispered in 
my ear, saying "God bless poor Godmama Fanny." [Susan bites 
her lip to conceal her emotion. Harry turns to the viindow, wiping 
his eyes and cowjhi>iy. \ Then the church yard seemed to go 



THE POOK GIEL,. 27 

away suddenly, and some voice said to me: 'It is Mamma Atten,' 
it was tlie same face wlaicli, I lemember now, used to hang over 
me, and liear me pray when I went to bed. O, Mamma Atten ; 
all that is in my liead about you is confused ; but I remember 
that you loVed me, and were good to me, tlaat you will not make 
me a beggar no more. 

Harry. \_Emphatically striking his fiat upon the table.'] An' 
thee sliall not, not while I've strength to lift my right hand and 
earn a jjenny to keep thee. My poor Fannie Shelley — my — my — 
[Tnes to clear hla throat.] 

Susan. Not now, brother, not just now, dear Harry, we will 
talk over these things some other time; now let's set the table 
away. 

Harry, [Decidedly.] I'll be darned, Susy, if I ever enjoyed 
my groob so much in my life. 

FLiOREt. [Earnestly.] 1 am sure I have ; O ! so much. 

Susan. [Faintly.] And I hope I have, also. [They rise. 
Floret and Husan remove the table. Harry lights his pyje.J 

Harry. Well, Susy, I'll go out and attend to the cattle. 

[Exit C] 

Susan. Now, darling, tell me [drawing Floret to her side and 
kissing her] how you slept last night? 

Flokf:;t. [Joyfully.] Oh, I have never slept so happily be- 
fore — never — that I can remember. When I laid my head upon 
the pillow last night it seemed so soft— so delightfully soft. Then 
your kind voice was in my ears, and there was no fighting and 
swearing during the darkness, but all was quiet — so very quiet. 
Then I dreamecl too, that I was in a large, bright golden palace, 
and I thought I was standing \^y the side of a lady — a lady like 
one I saw yesterday at the races — and I thought she parted my 
hair upon my forehead and kissed me, and spoke so kindly as she 
said, pointing to all the golden things in the grand room, and the 
servants all dressed like k)rds: 'These are all yours. Floret, for 
you are a lady born.' O, was'nt that nice. Mamma Atten ? — 
Then I opened my eyes softly, for I knew that my dream was 
gone ; and I was afraid that I was in a dark, dirty, cold room, and 
still with the Daddy and Grannam ; but no, I was here — here. 
Mamma Atten, here — with you, never to go away from you imtil 
I die — and that will be a long, long time to come, will it not? 

Susan. [Pained.] O, I hope so, darling. [Hugging her close 
and kissing her affectionately.] I Avill pray that the sad, sad 
time may be tar off . [Casting her eyes upon the frock.] But I 
must destroy yonder frock, as I must on no account permit you to 
ever wear it again; [takes it down and motions as if to rend it in 
pieces, pauses suddenly] but stay, I will not destroy it, the sight 
of it, some day, may be of importance to you, for it will remind 
you that — 

Floret. You, Mamma Atten, saved me from being always a 
poor beggar girl — a poor, miserable little beggar-girl. O, no, do 
not tear it. 



28 FLORET, OR 

Susan. [Rejilacinff it] Now, darling, I must go and do the 
errand that I told you I had to do, and I beg of you to remain 
perfectly quiet while I am gone, and not to look out of the win- 
dows on any account, for perhaps some of those ugly gipsies may 
be prowling about and recognize you, and after I come back we 
will go out and take a walk. 

Floket. O, Mamma Atteu, I will obey you faithfully. 

Susan. I shall not be gone long, only a moment or two, good 
bye. [Exits b.] 

Floret. O, I'm so glad she's gone. [Jumps about— pauses 
suddenly. ] O, no, I aint, either, for Mamma Atten is so gc 3d to 
me; but— then — I'm kinder glad, just a little mite — because, be- 
cause I want to see what Victor gave me at Ascot races, and I 
have got such a jolly chance now. [Feels in her hosom.\ Oh! 
my, its gone! [Intense disappointment.] I've lost it. \_Stands 
thowjhtjully — then suddenly jumpimj about breaks into merry 
ringing laughter — clasping her hands. No, it aint — no, it aint. 
Oh I know. [iJuiiS to bed and takes packane from under pillow.'] 
There it is ! There it is ! [She holds it up, looks at it, kL^ses it and 
is extravagantly joyous; draws chair to centre of room and carefully 
opens the paper, in wfiich are Jive golden sovereigns; with a look of 
intense disappointment, and tears starting, she turns the paper 
over and over, then, with a violent, angry motion, she throws all 
upon the floor and leans her head upon the back of the chair and 
sobs as though heart broken.] 

[Enter Susan.] 

Susan. [Taking her hand,] My child (alarmed) what is the 
matter? What has happened? D(f speak and tell me. 

Floret. (Passionately.) You take the money, Mamma At- 
ten, for I will not look at it ; I will not touch it ; I will not use it ; 
for — for — for his sake — for anybody's. 

Susan. (Aside.) My task is even yet more serious than I 
supposed it to be, but I will go through with it. Heaven will give 
me strength to do my duty by her to her last hour. 

Floret. (Abruptly.) Mamma Atten, do foreign princesses 
wear such frocks as tliat blue one with stars ? 

Susan. (Surprised.) No — O no, only poor little wretched 
creatures who dance and sing at fairs and races. [Floret rises 
and gras2Js her tightly by the arm, looking her fiercely in the face, 
struggling to speak but passion chokes her.] Hush, hush, darling, 
(^Arm around her neck, drawing her close.) Such words shall 
never pass my lips again. You do not understand what I meant 
by what I said, and I will not explain, because it will only make 
bad worse — at all events it would prolong a painful subject. 
{Kisses her. Floret brushes the tears away and returns it affec- 
tionately. ) 

Floret. (Frankly.) I am naughty at times, Mamma Atten. 
I must tell you that, and I feel proud to be naughty ; but it is 



THE POOE GIRL. 



wrong, 1 suppose, and you will teach me to be always good, wout 
you? 

SusAX. Earneatly.) I will try, indeed — indeed, darling, I 
will try. 

Floiiet. ( Thoughtfully. ) Yes, I am sure you will ; but do not 
be cross with me when you want to make me better, because, 
when Daddy and Grannam were so fierce, and growled and swore 
at me, I used to make up my mind to drown or starve myself. 
(Susan's countena)ice expresses pain) And, Mamma Atten, (im- 
pet'wusly,] if you were to be veiy cross to me I should j^ill my- 
self. I would do it with a knife, if I could not do it any other 
way. I — [Susan shudders and puts her hand on Floret's 
niouth.^ 

Susan. Great Heaven ! You do not know what you are ut- 
tering — we will talk about this some other time. I will never be 
cross with you, dearest, but always reason with you gently and 
tenderly. 

Floret. And when I feel naughty — for I do sometimes feel 
naughty — angry, proud — like an imp of the devil, Grannam 
used to say — I will tell you. Mamma Atten, and you shall show 
me what to do, to make me good again. 

»USAX. Yes, yes, darling, but we will not talk any more about 
this now, some other time will — 

Floret. [Persistently.'] But, Mamma Atten, I want to talk 
to you now — about my mother. [Earnestly. \ Why are you so 
fond of me? You are Mamma Atten, I know, but you are not 
my real, true manuna, as your mamma at Beachborough is to 
you, are you ? 

Susan. • [Starting. ] But, why do you ask me so strange a 
question, darling? 

Floret. [Musingly. \ Because, I have often heard Grannam 
say, that she was better than a mother to me ; but she was never 
anything like so tender and so kind to me as you have been ; so if 
Grannam was better than a mother to me, my mother must have 
been a horribly dreadful wicked woman I 

Susan. [Shocked.\ Hush, darling, do not speak in that man- 
ner. You do not know what you are talking about. 

Floret. [Earnestly.'] Yes I do; Mamma Atten, you are not 
my own mamma, are you ? 

Susan. No, darling, but — 

Floret. Then my mamma must have been a cruel, wicked 
creature. She must have sold me to Daddy, because she would 
not work for me, and keep me until I could work for and keep 
myself. 

Susan. [Quickly.] You cannot, my dear child, judge of 
things you know nothing about. Darling, I will tell you, very 
briefly, something of your early life. Fannie Shelley, who was 
the foster sister and maid servant of a young lady by the name of (/ons- 
tance Plantaganet, brought you to Beachborough when you was but a 
few weeks old. Bound by some promise, which she regarded as of 



8Q FLORET, OR 

the utmost solemnity, she refused to reveal your parentage, even to 
my poor brother Harry, who was her lover, and who, in a mume:it 
of jealous frenzy taxed her with being your — your — mother — poor, 
poor girl — unable to bear all that was heaped upon her fair fame, 
she lost her reason, and fled. Articles of her wearing apparrel 
were found soon after in the river, and quickly after a body which, 
althougli past recognition, was identihed and buried as her. My 
brother, Harry, believing in her when too late, and nearly wild 
with remorse, brought you to me, intending to rear you as his 
own — lipping thereby to make all the atonement in his power. — 
At the age of four you were stolen from us, and although we have 
searched unceasingly ever since after you, yet unavailingly until 
yesterday, when poor Fannie Shelley's song, as sung by you, burst 
upon my ears, and I knew that you were found, found, thank God, 
never, never, to leave us again. But let us talk of something else 
now, darling — 

Flouet. Not yet, dear Mamma Atten. I want to say more 
about my mother. I have often, often thought of her, and have 
wondered why I had no mamma, like otber little girls; but 1 sup- 
posed it was because I was poor and ragged. I could not bear to 
speak to Daddy or Grannam about her, for I thought they would 
call her names, and then, if they had, I should have cursed them 
and spat .at them. 

Susan. [Hurriedly.] Floret, darling, what are you saying? 

Floret. \ Eyes glittering.] I hated Grannam, and I often 
cursed her ; but she was not my mother — she was not so bad — I 
feel now that I hate my mother; shall I not curse 

Susan, lliursting into tears.] O, my child, iny child, you 
will break my heart. [Liper Leper is seen X}eering in at win- 
dow. 

Floret. {Throwinf/ her arms around Susan's neck.] O, what 
have I done. Mamma Atten — O, do forgive me — forgive me — fo.- 
give me — audi never will be naughty again. [Sobs wildly.] 

Susan. [Tenderly.] God bless you, my child. lam not an- 
gry with you, but I could not help feeling bad, for — well, well, 
[brushing the fears away.] never mind now — [cheerfully] come 
Floret let us go out a little while. You would like to take a walk 
would'nt j'ou? 

[Liper Leper climbs quickly through loindow and goes to Flo- 
ret. Susan screams for help and catches Floret in her arms.] 

Floret. O, Liper, you here ? {Going towards him with out- 
stretched hand.) I am so glad that vou have not forgotten poor 
Floret. 

Liper. (Taking her hand.) Forgotten you, Fl-ret? {Re- 
proachfully.) Forgotten you? 

SxTSAN. {Frightenedly.) You shall not sjjeak to her. Go 
aw.iy. Go, I tell you, or I will scr tm for help. 

Liper. [LiQW musical torn.) .Tue, White Rose will trust the 



THii POOR CJlKL. iil 



briar which has sliielded and protected lier from the storm many a 
time. (To Floret.) Speak for yourself , lily of the dell. Your 
own heart and my deeds will speak for me. silver daisy. 

Flouet. {Quickly. ) It is Liper Leper, Mamma Atten. He 
was always kind and good to me. I will trust him, Mamma, 
though all the world said I ought not. [E.ctends her hand to him 
■which hetakex and kifises — retuln.s it. 

Lii'ER. I am used to son-ow, but it has been sad for me since 
we parted, Floret, yet 1 rejoiced when I heard you were taken 
away from Daddy Windy, for I wished to see you happy ; and 
though I know that the stars are now, and for a time, against you, 
yet I will do all I can, as I have done, to ward off the blow which 
is hovering over you and is intended to lay you low. 

SusAX. f Angrily, j Oease this cant to such a child as this 
and go away, or — 

Floret. [Earnestly.] Do not speak harshly to Liper. I 
would trust myself with him anywhere, for he would never suf- 
fer anyone to hurt me, would you Liper? 

Liper. [Tenderly.] I would jiot, pearl drop. [To Susan,] 
Listen ! Floret is the child of nobody. Daddy Windy has as 
strong a claim to her as you who took her from him at the races. 
Hagar Lot a better than both. Perhaps s..e is better witli those 
who*)-et have possession of her. But let them look to her, and 
keep her close. Daddy has circled round her like a hawk; even 
now he is in this very vicinity, and he will, if you are not more 
cunning and cautious, swoop down on the dovelet at last. Flo- 
ret's star is pale, sickly, cloudy — the signs betoken peril to her; 
but there is one star which, still bright, watches over her — that is 
my own. What it may yet prove I am not able to tell ; but I will 
watch over her and guard her from harm so long as 1 have the 
power. I will depart, for 1 came only to warn you. [Going out 
as he came — turning.] Floret, when you want my help you will 
find me near you I Good bye. Good bye. [Kciis quickly,] 

Fi.oRET. O yes, good, kind, friend. I will trust you , for I 
know you will watch over me and protect me. [.S'u.san is nervous- 
ly watchin'f Liper in the distance.} 

Susan. (Aside.) I dont quite like the leaks of that gipsy 
fellow, ril just follow him a little ways and watch him. (To 
Floret.) ril be right back. Floret. I'm only going a short dis- 
tance, not fairly out of your sight. You won't be afraid, will you ".' 
{Exit at L.) 

Floret. (Sils down and picks floxocrs— forms tliem into abo- 
quet.) O no, ril not be afraid, for Liper is nearby. O, he's so 
good and kind. I wish he wasn't a gipsy — [looking at hoquet.) 
There now, that's kinder pretty — yes, but that scarlet tlower 
would look better here. (Alters it.) There, that's better, but its 
not so pretty aUiosegay as i could wish. [The Daddy is seen creep- 
ing cautiously through the window vji.th a, bag hi his hand, and says 
aside, ' 'Ere^sai)urty blossom all a blowin^ and a growin. Iknowed 
Liper Leper would find her, and Vve bin liis shadder, I 'ai)e."] 



FLOEKT, OK 



But yet, if Victor were here I would give it to him, and tell him 
that I would have made it much prettier if I could. Victor is 
such a pretty name — Victor I Lord Victor ! How grand and beau- 
tiful it sounds. Ah! I'm sure he did not [Hagar stands at win- 
dow peering in] mean to scorn me when he gave me that money, I 
am sure he did not; and when I see him again I shall say to him — 
[The Daddy has crept up silently, and, vnth a triumphant, dia- 
bolical expression, suddenly throios a sack over her head, bearing 
her to the floor. She utters a suppressed shriek and lays lifeless.] 
Daddy. [Triumphantly.'] I've got yer again, my vite thorn. 
Sixteen bunches a pennee ! Sweet lavenders ! Sixteen bunches a 
pennee ! [Pours liquid upon a cloth and holds it to her face. ] Ah ! 
I'd like to see the devil himself take you from me again.] 



THi: POOR GIRL. 33 



ACT III. 



THREE YEARS LATEE. 



Scene I. Wild out door scenery. The Gipsy King, an oil man 
of seventy years, is discovered seated upon a high grassy knoll; 
near him stands Hagar Lot; gathered around them are men, 
women and children of the tribe. Liper Leper is discover ed in 
the background. 

Hauar. (Pointing.) ^le is here. O, Tawny Pciiice! In 
his; hand he holds the Whitj Ro.e. 

[Sider TxuDY leading ¥u)RKr. drejsed in accordance with her 
age and position, to whose hand Ida is clinging.] 

Daddy. lAside.'] Elcia, of Castile, Hagar's old ancient un- 
cle. I see's the game! <^), but — O, but — [^puts his dagger secret- 
ly up his sleeve.} Great Tawny Prince, I, Daddy Windy, Maun- 
(ler and Patrico. am here I 1 bring vith me the Vite Rose ; my 
Vite Rose, mine — mine — only mine, as I shall prove to you, veu- 
ever you shall magnanimously gi' me the chance o' doin' it. 

KiWg. Vlch is the Vite Rose? 

Daddy. [Leading Floret to him.'} Behold the VikI Yite Rose I 
[An eager whisper runs through the asseinhly and every eye is 
J listened on her. j 

Kixfi. Who's t'otlier? 

Daddy. I found her along vith the Vite Rose, an' I let 'er 
come vith us, acos the Vite Kose vished it. 

KiX(i. She is a liouse-dweller? 

Daddy. In her nat'ial state, cert'ny. 

Kix(i. Born sucli — bied such — desires to die such ? 

Daddy'. Ainta doubt on't. I knows nothin' about 'er 'cept 
vot I've told you. 

Kixcf . (harshly. ) You ha\e done wrong to bring her here : she 
nuist be driven away I 

Daddy. (Grinning.) A'ith all my 'art. 

Floret. (Hastily starting Jorward.) No I no! no! 

Daddy. (Angrily.) Be silent, Vite Eose ! Dont say a vord, 
e'cept vot I bids you if you voulJn't have fr. sh grass growin' and 
a blowin' o\er yer'ead ven the stars peep out. [Turning.} I dont 
vant to keep her; she aint no use to me. She's followed me 'ome 
'ere like a strange cur, and I ilont want U) gi' 'er 'ouse room. 

IviXG. [ConinHindingly.\ Drive her forth ! 

(JipsiES. l^lll shouting and advancing tov.ard Ida threatening- 
ly.] Yes, drive her forth. , 



34 FLORET, OK 

Ida. ( With a cry of fright runs to Floret and throws her arms 
around her.) Do not let these horrible people drive me away from 
you. (Tones of distress.) 

Daddy. {Grasping Ida, and with ahrxipt violence tears her 
rudely from Floret, hurling her back, thoi gra-sps FloreVs wrist.) 
Go away ! Be off with yoii ! Go ! 

(A loud hocAfrom the Gipsies, andthey again advance upon Ida, 
Floret quickly wrenches her wrist from Baddy and rushes im- 
petuously through the crowd to Ida, when, catching Ida around 
the waist with one arm, she draws herself proudly up.] 

Floret. She 67;«?i remain with me, (haughtily) or we will 
quit this hateful place together. 

Daddy. [SnarUngly.} No! — no I You dont quit no place 
vithout me. (Makes an attempA to sieze her.) 

Floret, (i^uickly drains a dagger.) Stay where you are; (pa.H- 
aionately) this blade has, too, a poisoned point. (Daddy cowers.) 
Liper lieper gave it to me, and told me that it was venom-dipped ; 
he would not have said that falsely to me. Do not move a step 
nearer to me, or you, who have threatened me ypitli death, shall 
receive yours at my hands. You are driving me mad. I will go 
with you no more. I will die first. You shall not drivo this poor 
bruised girl from me. We will remain together, or we will die 
together. A scratch — a touch — is death. Aha — aha. You — you 
— ^you Iiaye told me that. 

Ida. (Piteously.) Do not let them separate us. Floret. I do 
not fear to die, but do not let us be parted, unless by death. 
^Floret presses her to her bosom, but with eyes iniensely*, fastened 
upon the Daddy — Liper Leper comes softly behind her. j 

LiPKB. iSoftly.} Floret. 

Floret. \ Turning like lightning.] Liper Leper. {Sur- 
prise. ] 

Daddy. ^Nervously.] Liper Lepei'. 

Liper. A few words now ; a conference anon. Your friend 
must depart hence ; even, as for a time, you must remain here. 
You will trust her with me? I will treat her as gently and as 
respectfully as I would — even you. J'ersuade her to leave you, 
and quickly, too. If ever you placed faith in m.-, Floret, you 
may now. 

Floret. (Kisses her.) Uo with him, dear Ida. You will be 
far safer with him than with me. 

Ida. {Earnestly.) Shall we be reunited ? 

Liper. {Emphatically.) You shall. (Ida throws her arms 
around Floret's neck and kisses her passionately— thtn giving her 
hand to Liper they exit at L. ] 

Hagar. [Takes Floret's hand.] (Jome with me and fear 
not. (Stands before the King.] 

King. (Gently.) You are the V'ild Vile Roie? Speak. 
Dont be afeard, child. Answer me. 

Floret, I have been so called by tlie Daddy 

Kino. You know the Daddv'.' 



THE rOOP. GIKL. 



35. 



Floret. I do. 

King. And you knows this young 'ooinan, too? {Pomiimj to 
Hag or. 

Flobet. (llesitalhvjly.) I have seen her before to-day. 

KiNU. Werry good. Werry good. {To Ilayar and Daddy.) 
You both on you claims her? 

HAGAii. 1 do, unhesitatingly. The Daddy has no claim to 
her whatever. If he has, let hiui prove it now. If he does so to 
your satisfaction, O, Tawney Prince, I will resign her to him 
without a murmur, and never more seek to disturb him in his 
right to detain her in his custody. 

Daduv. {Quicerini/ jaw.s.) She is mine — mine — mine. 

Kino. Speak, Hagar. 

Haoar. (Erect befure hUn with folded anna.) There is a law 
O, Tawney Prince, in force among our people, which gives to her 
charge solely the child whom she may have received from those 
who disdain or fear to acknowledge it as there own to the world. 

Kino. That is so. 

Hagar. This girl — the nameless, the homeless, the outcast — 
{Floret weeping] was consigned to me by the only being living who 
liad the power of doing so. I took the bird from the nest, and upon 
myself the responsibility of its support ; I dare nor bring it to the tribe 
for suspicion would have fallen upon them, so I placed her with the 
Daddy, warning him that 1 should claim her fiom him some day. 
Accepting a sum of money, he consented to receive her on my 
conditions. Years passed away, and the time arrived when it be- 
came necessary that I should claim her. I did so. The Daddy, 
violating his agreement, refused to restore her to me — he even 
threatened me with a scratch of a poisoned knife if I attempted to 
take her away from him. I was compelled to resort to strtagem to 
regain her, and, having succeeded, 1 placed hei where she became 
the mistress of book-lore and those accomplishments whicli lady 
house-dwellers delight in. For three years she has been in this 
institution ol learning, but because of ill treatment she and her 
companion here tied, and this very day has again fallen into the 
Daddy's way; lie has again seized her. and 1 demand her f rem 
him, liaving alone thai claim to her which our laws sustain 
and which our people respect. 

King. What answer can you make to Hagar? 

Dacdy. Great Tawny Prince, {cringing tone,] Hagar, the Cas- 
lilian, is a vondertul 'oomau! she knows the stars veil; she — 

King. iSnappishlg.j Do speak out like a man, athoutfear or 
favor, and not go beatin' about the bush like a robin. 

Daddy. Veil, then, I owns as Hagar brought to rae the Vite 
Rose, bb* axed me to bring it up, and to keep it; I kep' it for 
years, and yen it vas taken from me she neither claimed it nor 
took ii away — it vas someone else, at Ascot races three years ago ; 
an' yen sh« came to me for it it vas arter I had stolen it avay again 
lor myself, ^'en it vas captured from me her claim vent avay vith 
it, aik yen I stole it back the gal vas my property, an' Hagar can't 



36 



FLORET, OB 



apply to our laws an' show me vone vicli gives her a ouuce claim to 
the Vite Rose ; if she can, then I'm done an' I'll be dumb. But, Taw- 
ny Prince, there's a heap o' money a hangin' to this bloomin' flow- 
er, vich vill be mine venever I restores her to her family, as I shall 
do some day ven they vants her 'orae again wery bad; so ven I 
gets the goold I speak on through this 'ere little vite-'eart cherry 
blossom, I shall diwide the whole on' t atween the lot on you. [A 
murmur uf approval from all.'\ 

Hagak. He has already made a considerable sum of money 
by the beauty of the Poor Girl, when he compelled her to sell 
flowers, a poor, ragged, bare-legged creature. 

Daduy. Dressed as a forrin princess, regardless of expense, 
vaut you, Vite Rose? Didn't you caj^tivate the 'eart of a young 
lord ven you vore a sky-blue, star-spotted little gownd, sich as 
fairies dances in on moonlight nights, an' a wreath of roses upon 
your snowy brow. \^Floret turns away, weeping bitterly.^ 

Hagab. \_Wa\;lug her hand impatiently. Tlxis is idle talk; 
but let us end it. I stand here, O, Tawny Prince, upon my right. 
I know this disowned girl's friends — he does not; he never can 
make a market of her secret — he never shall. I can restore her to 
them — I may. If I do it will be without asking — without accept- 
ting — nay, by refusing any recompense. Give her to him, you 
doom her to some years of shame, of mental agony, to ruin — nay, 
to utter destruction ;*restore her to my charge, and, at least, she 
shall have her happiness and her honor to her own keeping — 

Daddy. (Excitedly.) Out-talk my right if you can, Hagar 
'ooman. I stole the Vite Rose ven she vos no longer yourn, Ha- 
gar 'ooman, to control, an' she belongs to me, by the unchange- 
able laws o' our community. 

KiXG. Silence, all I I have heard both sides ; tiagui- forfeited, 
I think, all right to further control over the destiny of the Vite 
Rose, ven she, as she has acknowledged, placed her to gain learn- 
in' vith house-dwellers. 

Dai>dv. \ Exultingly.] A. course, a course. 

King. Silence I An' 1 thinks that the Patrico 'stablisbed a 
new an' indispootable claim to her when he kidnap^jed the Vite 
Rose on his own account. 

Daddy. [As before.) A course. 

King. Silencel Come nearer to me, Vite Rose. Now, Vite 
Rose, you must answer my questions, an' answer 'em truly. — 
Dont be afeared to speak (jut. A good deal o' your own comfort 
vill depend upon vot you say yourself. Do you know who you 
are ? 
[Liper Leper enters and stands where Floret can easily observe 

him.] 

FliIIKT. (Faintly.} i do not, 

King. But aiut you got no idee; aint you got no clue, no 
nothiu" to prove M'h(j youai'e someday"? {Floret shakes her head 
!-orrowJitlly.) That's rather odd. I've set^n an' knowed a good 
deal about kidnapped kinchtMis, an' they've generally hat! a mark, 



THE POOK GIRL. •:»< 

a strorberriee, or a mouse, or a heervig, or a lobster, or sumfin 
about 'em o' tliatkind. Aint you got nothin' o' that sort? 
.Floret. (Faintly.) Nothing! 

King. [Looting at Hagar and Daddy.] As both on you 
claim 'er, I s'pose that von or 'totlier on you, or both it may be, 
have got a token vich the family o' the Vite Eose vill recognize 
ven they sees it? [Hayar i-emains silent — Lijier Leper earneitly 
gesticulates to Floret to make hare her arm.\ This is a little 
orkurd, for since you have nothin' in the vay of a token by which 
you may be recognizet.1 by any von who might put in a better 
claim than either Hagar or the Patrico, I must yield you to the 
Daddy, who owns you by capture. 

Flokkt. \Suddenl7j lays bare her arm upon which is seen a 
typhon-sluipiil ntark. !S,'ie holds it before the Kimj's eyes.] Be- 
hold this symbol ! By it I may be known. 1 am El Ydaiourl 

King. [Springs to hisjeet trernhling ivith excitement.] Listen, 
all I The 'nigma is read ; the stars speak. The claims of Hagar, the 
Castilian, and the Patrico are swep' away like thistle-down afore 
the vind. Look upon the Vite Rose as the Vite Rose no more. — 
8he is El Ydaiour, The Wanderer I 

GriPsiKS. (All vnth wonder.) El Ydaiour, the Wanderer! 

King. (Waoes his hand for silence.) The child is from the 
land of the friendless, from the roofless shed of the fatherless,the 
motherless, the kiuless. She has no roof-tree but the sky; no bed 
but the green, grassy turf. iShe has no tribe among nations. As 
a human being, she has no rights — save one that is sacred to her, 
and to be sacredly observed by us — her right is Hospitality ! (.^In 
approving shout is uttered by the Gipsies.) From this moment 
El Ydaiour is free to us, free with us, free from us, her claim 
overrules all others ; she commands from us shelter and suste- 
nance, help in her distress, assistance of the strong arm when she 
needs it, and she must have it. 

Gipsies. (All.) She shall have it. 

King. The symbol on her wrist is a token to which we all bow — 
it is one to whic:h Hagar, the Castilian, and the Patrico must bend. 

Gipsies. [Sternly all. 1 They must. 

King. El Ydaiour! Fear no more ; every man here is your 
protector; every woman your servant and your friend while you 
remain among us. You may eat, drink,sleep and depart in peace, 
and ven yon goes your vay, neither Hagar nor the Partrico dares 
to follow you, or touch you, if you desire it not. If they do, they 
will incur the Gipsies' curse; eyes will flash at 'em, tongues hoot 
at an' scorn 'em — they will be hunted and harried, lashed and 
stoned, flogged and briered, and at the last hour of their life no 
sun shall vatch 'em die, no sun shall see 'em live; but they shall 
hang and rot, bit by bit, day by day, year by year, from the deadly 
vite branches of a vithered, blight-smitten tree, the gipsies' curse 
clinging to 'em so long as vone bone of their frail carcases is left 
to the eye of man. 1 have spoken. El Ydaiour, move vere you 
vill. Break up, ail. 



38 f^LOEKX, OK 

[All but the following characters exit. Hacjar and the Daddy 
make a movement toward Floret, who (jives an alarmed look at Li- 
per; he quickly places himaelf at her side. The Baddy is immedi- 
ately seized by two men. | 

Gipsy. Vere's the poisoned knife? Give it to me. [Daddy 
mechanically hands it to him.\ 

LiPEK. You liave uo cause f oi fear, Floret ; you are now more 
powei-f ul tlian tlie King liimself. 

Hagab. [Bitterly.} Ay! more powerful than I who holds 
your happiness in my keeping. 1 thought not, when I marked 
that symbol on your wrist so that I alone might know you when a 
woman grown, that it would rob me wholly of the power of injur- 
ing or of serving you. [Showimj her teeth in rancor.] liut you 
are also absolved from his power; you have drawn his fangs, his 
claws; his sordid avarice can never again reach you, his devilish 
malignity harm you. He has threatened you witii death from a 
poisoned weapon — he dare not from this moment touch you, even 
in play, with a feather. He may not even speak to you unless you 
will it — mark me — unless it be with your will and at your wish. 
And this privilege extends to me as to him ; if it is yoiu- wish to 
me I will speak to you alone — 1 will lift the seals from my lips ; 
I will tell you who you are and what you are; 1 will at once dis- 
close to you all I know concerning your secret history, and then — 
bid you farewell for ver. 

Floket. O, I desire most earnestly to learn all I can of my 
true liistory. I will speak with you alone now — at this moment — 
and I entreat you to keep nothing hid from me. 

Hagak [!:iternly.] Are you prepared to listen to that which 
you may hereafter wish, from the depths of a broken heart, had 
never fallen upon your ears ? 

Floret. [Quickly.] 1 am prepared for every consequence. 
No anguish, no torture, can equal that which my absolute igno- 
rance of who and what I am inflicts upon my heart. 

Hagar. jWavinij her hand.] Leave us, then; we would be 
alone. 

[Men, with Daddy, ginng. 

Daddy. [Slrajgliny fearfully, stretching out his arms and 
hoarsely crying.] Vite Rose — Vi — \^ite Rose! dont leave me — 
dont go away witli Hagar, dont — you vill rob me — of all — of all — 
all my — goold — my goold — [The words du- away in his throat, 
and his head rolls horribly J rom ■s/'i<.' to sldti. He/alls forward in- 
Xo their arms in a Jit. 2'hey exit,Jollowed by Liper Liper.] 

HA.GAR. We will rest here. What 1 have to reveal, and you 
to hear, may now be spoken unreservedly. 

Floret Be it as you think best. 1 am in your hands, and 1 
have no choice. I am silent, 

Hagar. Listen, child, and 1 will give you an illustration. 
Years past, a young Count of .Spain, riding tlu'oiigb a wood, w as 
shot by an luiseen hand; a young girl not older ban yourself. 



THE POOa OIRL. 



39 



heard the shot and the wild cry of agony which burst from the 
lips of the wounded man, and she hastened to the spot from 
which the shriek of agony arose. There, senseless, she found the 
bleeding body of the youtliful cavalier. She summoned assistance 
from her tribe — for she was a gipsy — his wound was carefully 
cared for by her, and she was rewarded upon his recovery by his 
love. She was rewarded with his hand — for he married her, and 
lived with her and her people a year, At the end of that time a 
child was born to them ; it was a girl ; the Count loved it, as he 
loved its mother, passionately. He presented himself before his 
father, the head and the haughtiest meml)er of one of the oldest 
families of Castile. He was received with great joy and much 
rejoicing. In the fulness of his heart he gave to his family a 
history of his accident and its result. He spoke in glowing terms 
of hisbeautiful young wife and his beloved child, but he sudden- 
ly perceived his hearers subsiding into a cold silence. VVheu he 
had concluded, they were frozen into figures of ice. He was a 
minor, and his proud fatlier made short work of the matter. By 
the laws of Spain he was unable to contract a marriage without 
his fatlier' s consent — he was unable to contract a mai-riage with 
one who was without the pale of his church. The marriage was 
at once annulled. The Count was thrown into prison by his fa- 
ther because he rebelled with frantic fierceness against his author- 
ty, and in attempting to escape he lost his life, and his love — his 
wife no longer — died of a broken heart when the news, alas I too 
soon was conveyed to her. Now, Floret, mark me. That Count of 
Spain was mi/ father ; that young girl was ?»,(/ mother. What am 
1? Do you Comprehend me, girl:' What position do I hold in 
the world '.' Answer me ! [Floret remains nilent, being deeply 
uijUat.ed.i- What am 1 in the eyes of the law? What am 1 in 
the estimation of that huge hypocrisy, society ? A pariah !— an 
outcast !— a nameless creature of shame. Do you understand me 
now, Floret? 

Floket. [Faintli/.] I cannot see that you are an object of 
humiliation, for your father and mother were married, and by a 
clmrcli ceremonial. 1 presume? 

Hagak. They were. The words invoked by the priest who 
united them were: "Those whom God hath joined let no man put 
asunder." But man did put them asunder, and made tf me a 
creature of shame — a thing of the world, not legitimate. I the 
daughter of a Count of Spain,- am that humiliated object {gasp- 
inij jearjuUy) of — of — of contumelious reproach — a — a — ugh; my 
throat swells at the thought of the liated woi'd — I am in the eyes 
of the law — a — a bastard. [*7(e appears very wretched, vnping 
t lie perftplrution from her brow. Floret is extremely agitated.] I 
now address niyself to your past, Floret, I have given you an il- 
lustration. You can apply il. 

Flokkt. [Shrieks with ai/ony.] No! no! no! no! Do not — Oh 
do not say that — not that — oh no — not that. (Gasjfs desperately 
for breath and throws herself down, sobbing as if heart broken.\ 



.40 KI.OliET, OK 

Hagar. Nay, you must have facts, then. You entreated rae 
to conceal nothing from you — you shall know all. It cannot mat- 
ter to you to know how or where your parents met. it will suf- 
fice for you to know that they did meet. Your mother at that 
fated hour was of your age, no more, and as like you in feature 
and in form as it may he possible for twin sistex's to be ; she met — 
and in secret — one whose form was framed to make a young girl's 
heart leap out of her keeping into his — one who, havilig extorted 
her heart from her, had not one to givejn return. She awoke to 
the discovery that she had been made the dupe of an insincere, a 
heartless villain ; that the heart she yearned for — for which she had 
wholly and completely resigned herself — had not been surren- 
dered to her ; and she awoke, also, to the horror that she — young 
fair, of patrician descent — possessed, in lieu of this heart, Great 
Spirit, a child. [Floret exhibits deep eitiufion, draicinu her breath 
with ar/onlziny difficulty.] Poor little innocent, miserable, name- 
less, object! It was born to misfortune, born to trial and trouble. 
Its father — well, we will not speak of him, save to say, that he- 
married a young lady of fair fame and much wealth. Its mother 
very quickly afterward gave her hand in marriage to one of the 
wealthiest and haughtiest peers of this gi-eat kingdom. She ignor- 
ed the existence of her child, bat married that illustrious Lord, who 
made her his marchioness. The child proceeded on its destiny. 
A young girl named Fanny Shelley, who had been reared with the 
mother 6f the babe, and who loved her truly and tenderly, took 
charge of the offspring, intending to take the place of the parent 
who had so barbarously deserted it ; but the child, in the fulfilment 
of its destiny, brought only woe to this unhappy girl. Her lover, to 
whom she refused to disclose the poor girl's secret, taxed her with 
being its sinful mother, poor girl ! The result of the bitt(ir quarrel, 
which followed was, that one morning poor Fanny Shelley was- 
found drowned — murdered too — in a deep brook near Beachbo- 
rough. [Floret tries to speak — to scream—she yasps, pants and 
struijylesj'or breath. ^Lt length hoarse sobs burst Jroin her lips,) 

Floket. I — I am that child? Mamma Atten told me — but 
not murdered — Oh I not murdered- : 

Haoab. I said murdered — foully murdered. [Floret utters one 
lony, auyoaished, despariitg cry of ayoaij, and falls lifeless to the 
yruiind, Gazlny at her coldly. ] Poor girl; her destiny is a 
hard one; but the planet which rules that destiny has prognosti- 
cated suffering only for it; it portends danger and suffering still. 
I am but an instrument of the stars. 1 would fain not got on 
with the task I have undertaken, but my destiny and hei's w 11 
that it should be so. [Floret raises herself, and pressing her /tands 
upon her temples, yuzes around dreaniily.] Now remember all 
that I "have communicated to you. Have you aught further to ask 
of me? 

Floret. [Desperate effort.] Tell me the name of the — the 
woman whom you have said is my mothm-. and a marchiou jss — the 
name of my mother — I ask only thai. 



THE POOR GIRL. 41 



Hagae. That you may curse her ? No, no ! You are a girl — 
a mere child — you — 

Floket. [Deej) cujony.'] In the name of that Almighty 
Power, in whose dread presence we may both shortly stand, 
have mercy on me and tell me ihe name of my mother — for she is 
still my mother, no matter loliut sin or error she may be guilty of — 
I entreat you to tell me her name, that I may go to her and on 
my bended knees entreat her to recognize me — to acknowledge 
me — to call me daughter. O, I will plead so earnestly, she can- 
not — she cannot refuse me ! O, woman, if you have a woman's 
heart, you carmot, you will not refuse me ; do, I beseech of you, 
do — do — take me to her. [Sobbing. \ 

HagA-U. [l/ored — asicZe.] It is worth the trial. It shall be 
attempted. [To Floret.^ You shall stand before her. Poor Girl, 
and assert your rights at least once, and then I will bid you and 
your destiny farewell forever, 

Floket. O thanks, thanks, for this kind act. 

Hag AB. I require none, nor do I wish for them ; but come, are 
you ready to stand before her who gave you existence ? 

Floret. [Calmly. \ Yea! though I knew as I crossed the 
threshold of her door, I should fall dead. [Both exit at R.] 

{Enter Lipeb Leper l.) 

Lifer. [Gazing after her.] O, White Rose, purified even by 
the fiery ordeal through wliich you are passing, you shall yet 
bloom and be the fairest flower of them all, for I will put in 
your possession that — ere you reach the Marchioness of West- 
chester — which chall force her to recognize you as her own. Aye, 
her own leyitimate child. Be of good cheer. Floret, be of good 
cheer ; for you shall yet stand among them the proudest of the 
proud. Hagar has been fearfully wrong in her surmises. I alone 
know the truth of the Poor Girl's parentage — but the time has 
come when she nuisl know it also. Aye I before another hour shall 
pass over her head. I must follow them and entreat Hagar to 
give me a word in private with the White Rose. 

iJExits after them.] 

Scene II. Floret. '.A by-path or lane. Liper and Floret enter 
iogetJierfroin l. Floret Is aad. 

Floret. I knew that I should see you, Liper. [Striving to 
keep back the tears.] I was sure that you would not fail me in 
this, my darkest hour, and now you have come. Oh, receive my 
thanks — my utmost gratitude, Liper. 

Lii'ER. I wished to see you alone, White Rose, and I have 
brought you here in order that I may, if possible, dash the bitter 
cup, which you were about to drain, forever from your lips. In 
urder that I may lighten the burden of sorrow which is lying lieavy 
on your heart and which is almost greater than you are able to 
bear. [Floret is xobbiuci heavily.] "Wliite Rose I was concealed 



42 FLORET, OB 

near by and heard all that Hagar has just told you. She lied 
Ifierceli/] when she told you you were a thing of shame and not legi- 
timate. IFluret. bewildered, and showing evidences of the most 
unbounded astonishment.) You are as honorably and proudly 
born as the Queen of England herself. 

Floket. yWith great anxiety.] Oh, Heavenly.Father [with 
folded upraised hands and on her lcnees\ accept the thanks of a 
broken heart for thy inlinite niercy. [Blsiug \ Oh Liper,do you 
know what you have said ; do you know what you have donel^ 
You have opened the gate of Heaven, almost. Pray God you 
have not done so heedlessly. <)h,you could not be so cruel. [Sob- 
bin;/. I It would— would — kill — me to go back from whence I 
came. Oh speak to me and tell me your authority for what you 
say. 

LiPER. What more competent authority can there exist upon 
this point than myself, and I say that Hagar told you an initiui- 
tous lie land yet she knows no better; she believes that she 
spoke the truth. 

Fi.oKET. ISarprise.] You an authority, Liper? 

LiPEK. Why not"? Kellect — nay, I will briefly prove to you 
what an authority I am. I was concealed near to Hagar Lot when 
the Marchiojiess of Westchester instructed her to steal you from 
Beachborough. I stole you sleeping from your bed. I was with 
Hagar Lot when the Marchioness saw you at Ascot Kaces, 
and who in an after interview with Hagar concerning you, fainted. 
Would she have fainted, think you, had you not been her own 
child. I have shadowed the Marchioness ever since, and I fol- 
lowed her into a church one day and saw her eagerly scan the 
pages of a big book. It was the Kegister of Marriage's. (Floret 
listening eagerly.) I saw her take from her pocket a knife. I 
listened attentively and I heard the sharp run of a knife over the 
paper. When she rose up, she hastily crushed a sheet of paper in 
her hand, and then hid it away. She returned to Eaby Hall and 
concealed it in a cabinet. White Hose, [takes a folded document 
from his pocket] behold a true copy of it made by myself, and the 
tiuie has now come when you nuist have its original, and you s/taii 
have it, rest assured, before you reach her mansion. Kead it 
carefully. {Hands it to her.) You will see that it is a register 
of marriage between Constance Neville Plantagenet and of Lenox 
Bertram, now Earl of Braekleigh. When I hand the original of 
this to you preserve it as you would your life, for it proclaims 
your honorable birth, as it records the marriage of the pair of 
whom Hagar spoke so falsely. White Hose, are you satisfied that 
I have proven my authority ? 

Floret. [With emotion.] God in Heaven will reward you, 
Liper, for I am utterly incapable. Human language is utterly in- 
adequate to express the gratitude welling over in my heart toward 
you. 

Liper. Kemember, Floret, this document only proves the mar- 
riage of a man and woman ; it does not prove you their child. I 



THE POOR GIRL. 43 



and others know that you are so, but legal proof there is none. 
The secret of your birth was kept by the Marchioness and Fanny 
yiielley ; the latter is dead — the Marchioness can alone furnish the 
proof you require. Will she make the admission, think you ? At 
this very hour she loves her real husband madly, and regards with 
abhorrence her present Lord. The Earl of Brackleigh also wor- 
ships her, and hesitates not to show his admiration openly, and 
would in his desperation proclaim their joint guilt in ha.ving com- 
mitted bigamy, and with her share a prison. Should he do so he 
would be regarded as a madman, since, through the cunning fore- 
sight of she who is his real wife, he is absolutely without legal 
proof, and is consequenlly helpless, just as you are helpless, unless 
her proud nature relents and she calls you daughter. 

Fi.oKET. It must be tried. 1 feel that I am not base-born — 
that I have within my veins the blood of the high-born and the 
noble, and terrible as may be the task of facing her who is, but 
w\u> has not acted to me as my mother, it shall not daunt me — 
there is nothing that 1 will not dare, to be able to kneel and offer 
up my thanks to Heaven, that if it has seen fit to chasten, alHict 
and try me sorely, even to make me an outcast, it has not doomed 
me to be nameless. 

Lii'EB. Some of your old spirit spoke there, spring-flower. — 
You will have occasion for all of it that you can rouse into action. 
Your niother is a haughty, and I know a desperate woman. As I 
have said she realizes and keenly reproaches herself for her crime, 
but like many another she will not turn back, since she has faith 
that fate or death will ultimately release her. She has obtained 
from Hagar Lot a quantity of that fearful material, the Gipsies' 
poison. It is a fungus, and, once taken, the taker dies without 
manifesting a symptom that is in any degree suspicious — a violent 
coughing is its only telltale, and that is too natural to excite surprise. 

Floket. But, Liper, why do you speak of this poison to me ? 

LiPEii. I would that I had it not to say, White Rose, but it is 
far better for me to warn you now than when it may be too late. 
White Rose, refuse utterly, to take any liquid while in her house. 
She is subtle and I fear remorseless. 

Flouet. Such suspicions are not kind, Liper; but is there 
nothing existing which will counteract its baneful effects? 

LiPEu. There is. Long and patient search has enabled me t3D 
discover an antidote; I have tried it upon myself after swallowing 
some of the poison and am assured of its perfect efficacy. (Hand- 
ing her a smaU vial of colored liquid.) A few drops of that in a 
glass of water, and taken internally, will destroy the effect of the 
venomous fungus and eradicate it from the system. Carry it al- 
ways about you. It will prove effectuiil even when the poison is 
in its most virulent stage. Will you still go to her. White Rose? 

Floket. 1 do not shrink from it, Liper; death from her would 
be preferable to life without the interchange of one word with 
her— my mother, Liper, whom, knowingly, I have never seen— to 
whom 1 have never spoken. 



44 FLORET, OR 



LiPER^ Heaven speed you then White Rose. Here is Hagar, 
who has grown impatient, I presume. Let her remain in igno- 
rance — 

Enter Hagak Lot at L. 

Hagar. I have been looking after you, Floret. Are you ready 
now? 

Floret. I am in your hands. Do with me as you will. [To 
Liper.\ Come with us, Liper, for a short distance. 

[All exit at R.) 

Scene III. A sitting room luxuriantly furnished; doors on R, L, 
and c. Marchioness of Westchester discovered reclining upon 
a lounge asleep; table near her upon which is a small basket and 
a small escretoire, Liper Leper enters softly at l, looks search- 
ingly around; goes to the table, picks from the basket a bunch of 
keys, applies one of them to the escritore, opens it and takes 
therefrom a folded document and replaces it by one from his 
person similarly folded. ] 

LiPKR. [Low tone.) For the Wild White Rose. (Waves if.) 
Ay! The bud shall yet blossom and bloom [Reads it.] 

lExits quickly and softly at L. ] 

Constance. [Aivaking with a start.] Pshaw I it was only a 
dream. Wliy should I fear? What shall destroy my fame now? 
Bertram? He cannot blight me with his new found love. Let 
himsay to the world, "she is my wife." Iwillanswer: "It is false! 
I challenge you to the proof." Aye I Where shall he find proof? 
Fanny Shelley, — the curate — all, all gone — dead — dead ! The reg- 
ister of our marriage ? Aha ! aha ! I, too, have that — the child 
— la wailitig sob bursts from her lips']— he never knew of its ex- 
istence and he cannot — no, neither he nor any other living person 
can prove it to be mine. No! no! no! Yet it is my own — 
wretched — hateful — accursed — child — my child — my own child. 
My God! my God! [Litense excitement.] Am I to blame that I 
have spurned it from me as a thing of shame? Am I to be 
doomed to a life of acute and excruciating torture here, and to 
eternal perdition hereafter, because I have discarded, disowned 
it ? Am I alone the guilty, heartless wretch ? No — no ! No — no ! 
If he had been but noble in spirit, O, I should not stand here 
desolate, alone, and unloved, bowed down by the scathing taunts 
of my own conscience, cowering beneath an avalanche of degra- 
dation and ruin? Why was I cursed with such a heart as mine? 
I have loved this man ! My God! 1 love him now! — wildly, dis- 
tractedly; and he returns it madly, he says. Would that I could, 
but I cannot, retrace my steps. I dare not go back now; it is too 
late. I must go onward — :on — on. I nuist not hesitate, or pause, 
at whatever cost — whatever crime. 

[Hagar Lot is seen at c door. She puslies Floret into the room, 
and retires shutting the door.] 



THK POOR GIRL. 45 

CoKSTANCE. (Starting agitatedly. ) Wliat is the meaning of 
this strange intrusion ? Who are you ? [Floret falls upon her 
knees at her feet yraspiny her dress, and in a tearful, suplicat- 
in(j manner. \ 

Fjlouet. Mother! [Constance witha frantic screech tries to re- 
lease her dress and staggers to the lounge. Floret still clings to 
her, and follows her upon her knees.] Mother, I am your child. 
Mother, do not disown me. Do not discard me. In mercy, in 
pity, do not deny me. In the name of Him who made you and 
all the world, be merciful to me, as you hope hereafter for mercy 
from Him. O, spurn me not. I am your child. One word, 
mother, one word to me. 

Constance. [ With glaring eyes and maddened expression — 
hoarsely.] Begone. Quit my sight. Leave me. This is some 
infamous plot hatched against me. Begone, brat, wretch, or,I 
will curse you. Begone, beggar. 

Floret. [Rising with a cry of anguish, pressiny her hands 
upon her temples, twisting her wrists about her neck and writhing 
in a paroxysm of agony— then Jtinging her hands by her side and 
clenching them she draws herself proudly up, and in a quivering 
.scornful,ljitter tone.] Woman, you shall hear me. 1 came here to 
implore justice. I remain here now to demand it. Look upon 
me ; examine my features well, and tell me if you know them. 
[ Sternly. ] Tell me if you recognize in them the features of your 
dependant, murdered foster-sister, Famiie Shelley ? Do they re- 
semble them ? Speak, am I like Fannie Shelley so much as to be 
her child? Mark me, woman. \_Points solemnly upward.] Al- 
mighty God is looking down upon us. In his presence I call upon 
you to answer me truly — Am I Fannie Shelley's child? (Con- 
stance cowers. ) You are silent. [Intense energy. \ You shrink — 
you know that it is false. And to whom did you wilfully and de- 
liberately repeat that falsehood ? — my father and your husband, 
the Earl of Brackleigh ? 

CoNSTA.vcE. [Casping.] How dare you utter these wild, in- 
coherent assertions to me? Begone, I know you not. 

Floret. [^Excitedly. ] I dare do this, and more ; for you dis- 
own me — 1 who have been so long and so hopelessly the victim of 
your cruelty — I will not go. Listen to me; know me for thatchild 
whom you saw at Beachborough, a poor pauper; know me for that 
child whom you saw playing the part of a miserable beggar upon 
a race-course. Do you know me now? [Sobs bitterly.] 

Constance. [With a powerful eifort.] I know you only for 
the person you declare yourself to be, excepting that audacious 
declaration of being allied to me ; but even that does not give you 
the right to obtrude yourself upon me, I might summon my ser- 
vants and have you expelled, and even consigned to the custody of 
the police, but I have compassion on your juuth and your sex; and 
I believe you are the child of Shelley, who was to me a faithful 
and devoted attendant. I therefore spare you the ignominy of a 
forcible expulsion, and I may feel disposed to promote your inter- 



46 FLOKEX, OK 

ests in some way, so that you may live in a decent and respectable 
manner, and not descend to such artifices as these, in the hope to. 
wring from me some paltry hush money. 

Flouet. [Deep emotion.] If your heart was not made of ad- 
amant you would never have consigned me to the fate you have. 
You would not see me thus stand before you, and address me in 
such heartless terms — nay, you would not have committed one sin- 
gle deed of the many which now lay heavj' upon your soul. Poor 
murdered Fanny Shelley was, as you admit, yoiir faithful devoted 
attendant. She sacrificed her life for you — and in reward for her 
faithful devotion — assuming that I am her child — how did you act 
toward me. Your imagination can form no conception of the 
miseries I have been compelled by you to endure; and for what? — 
not that I was the child of poor Fanny, but that I was your child, 
tlie unacknowledged offspring of a secret marriage between you 
and Viscount Bertram, now Earl of Brackleigh. 

CoxsTANCE. {Furlouxly] I will not listen to these preposter- 
ous inventions. I only wonder that i liave listened to your words 
so long. I, however, command you now to retire, or — 

Fi^OKET. [Veheinetitli/.] But you must, and you shall listen 
to them from me. It is fai- better that they should fall like blister- 
ing hail upon your cars from my lips, than they should be thun- 
dered into them from the mouths of others. You deny your mar- 
riage with the Viscoimt Bertram. Are you prepared to deny that 
you went to Brighton alone, and extracted from the book of the 
register of marriages, a leaf containing ojie of the entries. 

Constance. [Astounded. \ This is mere assei-tion. 

Floret. I have that abstracted leaf, in my possession. 

CoNSTANX'E. 1^-1 .Side] My God. [To Floret] The scheme 
has been cleverly concocted, but you prove too much. Had I com- 
mitted the act w'ith which you have charged me, that leaf of the 
register would have been in my possession, not yours. [Sueer- 
imjly,] 

Flohet. [Coldly.] It was in your possession, but it is now 
properly in mine, for it will lieip me to prove that I am — 

Cox.staxce. [Anqribj.] Stop. I again tell you to begone. — 
I have listened longer than I imagined I could have done to 
your foully-false accusations; now go. Leave me instantly or I 
will call my servants, and — 

Floret. [Voice IrembUng with emotion.] I wiH leave you 
now, with much unsaid that I had intended to say. It is perhaps 
as well as it is. I could have forgiven all that has passed, all that 
I have borne. I would have preserved your seci'et even to my 
v;»n destruction, if you had said but one kind word to me, be- 
r;t_ wed upon me one tender look — had pressed your lips to mine 
ooJy once, and whispered in my ear, 'thou art my child !' I yearned 
or ly when I entered hei-e that you should know me, that I might 
r.i 11 you mother, and you confess me — if only to myself — to be 
vcur child ; but now the v:orld shall knov>' me for whom I am, and — 



THE POOR UIRL. 47 

lEnter a maid servant hurriedly at it. At same instant from c 
enter Hayar Lot. 

Servant. ( Wringing her hands. My Lady ; my lady ; th*^ 
Marquis is approaching, my lady. 

Hagab, {Catching Floret's lurist.) You must accompany 
me. 

Fi.oKET. ( Throwing her hand off haugldily and flinging herself 
at Constance^ s feet with a wild cry of grief— and in half chocked 
accents.) One word — one word— one little word. (Constance 
stands unmoved.) Do not drive me from you without a word. — 
One little word will seal my lips forever ; though it force me to Siic- 
rifice everything that makes life so lovely to the young. O, O, O, 
one— one word moth— moth— mother. [Falls fainting at her 
fcet.\ 

[Fnter the Marquis at c, and stands just over the threshold.] 

CoxsTANCK. I Coders her face.] We are lost, lost, lost. 

ACT IV. 

ONE MOjSTH later. 

Scene I. Susan Atten's apartment. A very comfortably fur- 
nished sitting room; doors on R and c; windows near each. 
Floret is discovered busily engaged in arranging the furniture. 

Floret. [Humming a lively song at intervals.] Home again 
with Mamma Atten ; and O, how happy I am. I cannot be so very, 
very bad, or Mamma Atten would not love me so much asshedoes, 
when my own mother so dislikes me. I pray to my Heavenly Fa- 
ther fevery night that He may bless my poor mother, and cause her 
to love me and acknowledge me, if only tomyself, as her child; and 
I feel that He will liear and answer my prayer. In His mercy a 
heavy burden has been lifted from my heait, for Fannie Shelly, 
whom we all thought dead, has wandered back to her old home. 
Poor Godmamma Fannie — poor insane Fannie — after all these 
years in an asylum is among friends once more, and, thank God, 
with her reason almost bright again. It almost seems as though 
God was answering my prayers by restoring her reason and sending 
her to me, for she alone has the power to move my mother's heart, 
and give me a name before the world. What good news this will 
be to tell Victor when he comes to-night, as he has done every night 
until the illness of his father took him away, and now he has been 
gone two weeks; but his last letter says he shall be here to-night. 
[Gleefully.'] O, how I do love him, and I know he doi-s me, tod, 
though he has never told me so — that is, not in words — but he has 
looked — O, how he has loolced at me, and I know it well enough, 
but — but — but I (Zo wish he would say so. [Listening eagerly.] 
Hark ! that sounds like his step. It comes nearer — yes. yes, it's 



48 ' FLOKKT, OB 

Victor, it's Victor. [Gets middenly nervous regarding her person- 
al appearance, runs to the glass, arranges her hair, etc; knocks are 
heard at the door.] Oli, my I I musii't let him see how glad I am 
to see him. [Busily dusting.] Come in, [calling,] come in. 

Enter Lord Victor, dressed in deep mourning. Floret runs to 
him and extends a hearty loelcome. 

Victor. I cannot tell jou. Floret, how grateful I feel to know 
tliatyou are glad to see me back again, or — 

Flokkt. l.Quickly.) And why should I not be glad, Victor? 
You are everything to me — {confusion) I mean — I mean that you — 
tliat we — that you are my sincere friend, and of them I have too 
few not to be glad to see tlieni after so long an absence as yours 
has been. 

Victor. t^Smillng.) Yes; the longest <ioo wjeeArs I ever spent 
in my life. 

Florkt. (Coquettishly pouting .) I dont like to be laughed at 
and made fun of. Lord Victor. [Aside.] Oh, sho! what a 
niiniy I made of myself. 

ViC'i'OR. {Gravely.) Upon the contrary, Floret, I was nev- 
er more serious in my life. 1 pray you be seated wliile 1 address 
you. I have something of much importance to say to you. 

Floret. {Appears confused.) Thank you, my Lord — with — 
with — your permission I had rather remain as 1 am. 

Victor. {Standing near her.) Be it so. Observe my attire. 
You Avill perceive that 1 am dressed in deep mourning. During 
my absence from you 1 have suffered the loss by death of my dear 
father, who was so ill when I left you last — 

Floret. [Grasping his hand, and in a tone of hearty sympa- 
thy. ) Oh, I am so sorry for you Victor. 

Victor. lam now the Marquis of Broadlands. {Floret drops 
his hand.) I have not mentioned this change in my position. Flo- 
ret, witn any other object than to acquaint you with the fact that 
I am responsible to no person on earth but myself for my actions, 
and I should say to you what 1 am now about to reveal with the 
same sincerity if I knew you to be a veritable Poor Girl, tlie 
daughter of that strange old gipsy man who had you under his 
care, and with more sincerity than if 1 knew you to be tlie only 
cliild of one of our proudest dukes. 

Floret. {Distressed.) I pray you, my Lord, to spare me fur- 
tin r remarks. 

Victor. Floret, you are too keenly sensitive ; but pardon me — 
it scarcely allows you to be unjust to me in your thoughts. 

Floret. ( Off her guard. ) Unjust to you, my lord ! You wrong 
me by tliat expression. I have never been unjust to you in ray 
thoughts. On the contrary 1 have always regarded you with the 
ten — {confusion) with the kind — with, I wish to say, proper appre- 
ciation t)f your wortli. 

Victor. (Quickly.) Floret, when we first met I was greatly 
attracted by your face, and mucli struck, not only by the fact of 



THE POOR GIRL. 49 

your making to me the offer of a bouquet of wild flowers of your 
own arrangement, but by your manner and your words. 1 smiled 
at your offering, and you, with a swift aud rising color begged me 
not to scorn yoiu- gift. You told me that it was all you had to be- 
stow — you had nothing better, or you would give it to me. Floret, 
I promised that I would preserve that small bouquet while I lived. 
I have it now. VV^ill you hot believe me? 

Floket. [FabiUy.) i — I do believe you. 

Victor. I met you a second time at Ascot Races, when, strangely 
enough, a second time my services were requisite to give you aid. 
That interview served to make still brighter in my mind the impres- 
sion of you, that I liad already formed, and Floret, that night my 
self-examination proved to me thatl loved you. \_Florel turns half 
avmy to conceal her emotion.] That I loved you ; truly, fondly, 
devotedly and sincerely loved you. Floret, as a man should love a 
woman, as woman btves when she does love — without reserve. 
It has been my privilege to see very much of you since your re- 
turn home. My intercourse with you has served but to enliance 
my atfection for you. Floret, and now I am here — here, Floret, 
untrammeled by a consideration, here with a full heart, in which 
there lurks not il scruple, with a full knowledge of your condi- 
tion and my own, to entreat you to grant me your baud, that you 
may become my beloved, adored, honored wife. (Floret in- 
teni^ehj agitated.) Perhaps you have already [hu.sldly] given your 
heart to another, and my confession only pains and distresses 
you ? 

Floret. No! — O, no — no I 

Victor. Floret—dear, dear Floret, have I offended you ? IFlo- 
ret ruLseii her eye.'i, auffu.sed with team, to his and glances at him 
reproachfully.] May I hope? [Talces her hand.} C), Floret, 
one word — one little w(jrd — for my heart is bursting. {Holds out 
his arms and Floret Hings herself into them — leans her head upon 
his shoulder and i<obsforjoy.\ 

Floret. Pardon my weakness, Victor, but I am so, so happy. 
<), I liave loved you and'_ thought of you, and lived for 'you ever- 
since I was a little chfld. 

[Enter fix: i>,A.'S at R, omittinjto notice tlbcir position. They quick- 
ly and conjusedly sejiarate.'} 

Si SAN. O, Floret, I have such good news to tell you. Fanny 
has recovered her reason and she knows now who you are, dear 
Floret. She knows that you are the child she brought to Beach- 
b(jrougli, and who cost her her reason — no — no — I mean — who was 
reare(l there as the Poor Girl, and who once suffered so much. — 
But slie wishes so earnestly to see you that she is now on her way 
ilovvn stairs. She will be here^ directly. I will go and 
meet her. ^ [Fxits R.j 

Feoukt. O.Victor, I feel so happy and joyous — but — but the 
room may be full of strangers tu you presently, so per — perhaps 
you had better go — iiadn't you Victor? i'ou know I should love 



t-dO FLORET, OR 

dearly to have you stop — but — but, well you know you can come 
again? 

Victor. [Clasping his in her arms and kissing 7ier.] Yes, yes, 
I will go, dear Floret, but I will come agaiu every day. IGoing.] 
May God bless you, Floret, farewell. 

Flouet. Good bye, Victor, good bye. [Victor exit c] 

Enter Fanny supported by Susan and Hakky. She is sickly 
looking and walksjeebly. They conduct her to an arm chair. 

Floret. IHalf timidly taking Fannie' s hand.'} Do you know 
me, Fannie? 

Fannie. Know you ! O, yes. Miss. I recognized your fea- 
tures instantly. Could I ever forget them ? 

Floret. [Breathlessly.^ Whose features do mine resemble? 

Fannie. [Looking earnestly at her.} Those of your lady 
mother, Miss. When last 1 beheld her, she looked scarcely older 
than you — as fair and beautiful, only haughtier, prouder, more 
scornful in her expression. 

Floret. [Anxiously. | You speak of your foster-sister 1 

Fannie. I do. Miss, of my foster-sister whom 1 loved as the 
breath of life, my foster-sister and your mothef. 

Floret. [Earnestly. \ And her name ? 

Fannie. [Musingly.} The world then knew it as Constance 
Edith Planta^enet, but i knew it as tbat of Viscountess Uertram. 

Floret. [(Quickly.} You were present at her marriage ? 

Fannie. I was, Miss, 

Floret. [Eagerly. \ And attached your name to the register 
■ as one of the witnesses ? 

Fannie. [Readily. \ I did, Miss. 

Floret. [Producing the register — pointing.] Is that your 
hand writing ? 

Fannie. [Firmly.} It is. 

Floret. [Sigh of relief.} Thank Heaven! 

Fannie. [Surprise.} But, in Heaven's name, how came you 
possessed'cf tliat paper? It was in a large book that 1 signed my 
n»me. 

Floret. You shall know all, shortly. I wish first of all to es- 
tablish my identity. You will aid me, will you Jiot? 

Fannie. ( Warmly.) With my whole heart. 

Floret. (Anxiously.) Do you remember my birth? 

Fannie. O, well — well I remember that dreadful night. It 
was a terrible night. It rained very heavily, and the wind howled 
and the thunder roared, and the lightning flashed in sheets of 
flame, I went alone for the doctor, and in his presence, that of 
mine and of God only, was the cbild born. 1 attended to its first 
wants, and to those of its wretched, helpless mother. It was I 
who shielded it in my arms wben its mother refused to look upon 
it in her bitter, unnatural hate. * I wbo bore it to a nurse, who 
nourished it. I, who, upon my knees placed it before her, when 
fih^ resolved to part from it and from me forever, when she extolled 



THE POOB GIKL. 61 

from me a promise— O, my God ! ( Utters a scream and/alls upon 
her kueett. ) What have 1 done ! — what have 1 done I O, my God I 
pardon me. i have violated my oath to preserve this, her secret, 
sacredly, until she herself ov death absolved me from it. Go. (To 
Floret.) Leave me. G. You have made me break my vow. 
{Bows her head and weeps and trembles convulsiveit/. Floret is 
(jiving away to her emotion on Susan^ s shoulder, who is caressiwj 
her.) 

Harry. {Raising Fannie andpressing her to his breast — in a 
tender, earnest voice.) Look up, Fannie, girl ; look up girl, thee'st 
done no wrong. Thee hast parted with thy love — with reason — nay 
for a time thee hast parted with thy life, to keep that creature's sad 
secret. Thee hast done thy duty by her nobly, bravely ; but thee 
hast a duty, too, girl, to her who tirst rested m thy arms in this 
world. Thee did' st vow to thyself to be a mother to yon girl; and 
thee wast so when all the world fell off from thee, when even I — a 
coward and a dog for losing faith in thee — fell away, too, and 
would have tried to tear thy secret out of thy heart, even at the 
cost of thy life and mine. An' thee would' st have been a mother 
to her still, had 1 not doubted and condemned thee, would'st thee 
not'? {Fanny still sobbiny.) yhe has been aU her life a poor girl, 
Fannie, a poor, ragged girl. She be a poor girl still. — 
Wilt thee girl, for the sake of maintaining a weak promise made 
to a hard hearted woman, doom this bright and beautiful girl to be 
a poor girl to the end of her daysV Wilt thee do this, Fannie, an' 
— an' keep my love for thee, too ? 

Fannik. {Suddenly throwing herself at FloreVs feet.) Take 
me to her, to Miss Constance — tne Viscountess Bertram. God 
knows what now — take me to her! X will pray to her. I will 
clasp her knees. I will not leave her until she has absolved me 
from my oath ! 

Fjlokkt. {liaising her and twining her arm around her neck.) 
Compose yourself dear Fanny. Calm your feelings, and when 
you are stronger and better, we will together proceed to her. 

Fanxik. {Keleasiny herself . Now, shall it be; not a day — not 
an hour shall pass without my presenting myself before her. I 
will go now. Come, come, i know the way. • 

flAUKY. {Soothingly.) Gently, girl, thee'st exciting thyself 
too much. 

Fannie. {Decidedly.) No, Harry, I am not mad now. 1 
have a duty to perform; you have said that I have, and I will do 
it. Come — come. 

Florkx. Harry! Harry, you must restiain her. She is weak 
and sickly ; she will faint on the way. 

Harkv. {Reverently.) She be in the hands of God, Miss. Let 
her have her own way. He will conduct her to the right end. I 
feel sure o' that! 

Fan NIK, Come quickly, child ; come — come! {Grasps Fioret'$ 
waist and all exit at c.) 



52 FLOEET, OK 

Scene II, A lyiagnificently furnished library; large and heavy 
bookcuse on k; lounge, chains, tables, etc. Uoors on t. and c. — 
Enter the Marquis of iVestchester at L very excitedly. 

Marquis. [Detenninedly.] I must see her. 1 must see her. 
I will. 1 must come to some decided, positive, and determinate 
arrangement with her. She shall not foil, elude, escape me. fcjhe 
must be mine under any name. Wife, mistress, slave — she shall 
be mine. I cannot endure this torture ; damnation can have no 
pangs to equal the agonies which convulse me. JShe shall never 
be his — the Earl of iirackleigh, who would seduce her affections. 
No I — no! 1 have insulted him and received his friend. i'U slay 
him. He shall never leave the point of my weapon with life even 
llutttring in his heart. O, woman, woman, what will you have to 
answ Gi' for if you repulse me as you have hitherto Uonel^ \_11(: 
sinlcs into a chair and covers Ids j ace with his hu)i.ds.j 

[Enter CoxsTAXCE/rom c haughtily.'} 

CoKSTANCE. (IHntantly.) I am here. What have you to 
say to me ? 

Makquis. [Starting up and try in;/ to conceal his emotion.] 
Madam, since we stood at the altar together, we have never been 
in that relation to each other in whi^i. a clear and frank under- 
standing would have placed us. 

Constance. l<Jol<lly.] We have not. 

Marquis. I wisli to come to that understanding. 

Constance. [Firmly.] And 1. 

MAiiQUis. Wiien we were married — 

Constance. [Abruptly.] Stay! with our past we are both 
acquainted— a weary, weary past it has been to me ; let_. it be a 
matter of mi. mory— hateful memory it must be to both ; but do 
not let us discuss it. The events of last night will bring us to the 
point at once. Speak of that 

Marquis. [Flushed and maddtned. thow/h trying to articu- 
late clearly.] You are right. Madam. You frequently have 
made a boast that you have sustained beyond the possibility of 
impeachment the name of Westchester. 

Constance. {Flrndy.) 1 have done so. 

Marquis, [sternly.] But you have menaced me with inten- 
tions on your part to .stain it with the foulest iniquity I 

Constance. 1 did it for a purpose — for wilfulness — to relieve 
my brain of tlie pressure whicli your unworthy .suspicions heaped 
upon it. 

Marqiis. i^Quickly.) But I saw you last night at the recep- 
tion of that infernal horse-racing woman, speaking not m earnest 
tones, but with the familiarity which — which — which — one ser- 
vant would adopt in addressing another, to that object of my de- 
testation, my abhorrence, my fiercest hate, Lord Brackleigh. 

Constance. [^.s«c?e.| Heaven help me, J will end this now 



THK POOR GIRL. 53 

even though a prison cell be my portion forevermore. [Turning.'] 
You did, my Lord Marquis of Westchester, perceive me in conver- 
sation with the Earl of BrackIeigh,butnot with the low familiarity, 
which your vulgar conception attributed to it, but with the earn-' 
estness and friendly communion which should subsist between 
hu.sband and ivife. 

M AEQUis. istaggers mid gasping. ] I — I — do not understand 
you, woman. 

CoNSTAsrcK. I Coldly.) You shall. . You appear to object to 
my conversing with the Earl of Brackleigh. 

Marquis. (Frenziad.) With my whole heart, soul, will, be- 
ing, I do. 

CoNSTNCCE. [Laughing shrilly. I am his wife. {The Marquis 
utters a loild cry, groans and gasps for breath.] 

Marquis. [Hoarsely.} Wretch, you have foully dishonored 
me ! You — . 

Constance. [Sternly.] Beware, how you attempt to breathe 
one word derogatory to my chastity, even in my ears. For seven- 
teen years I have lived with the incubus of your name upon me, 
and beneath your roof. You have never dared to lay a hnger on 
me, even in pleasantry. At the alter 1 swore to be true to my 
husband. I have been, as Heaven is and will be my judge ! 

Marquis. I — I — am your husband. 

Constance. (Vehemently.) No, nor have you ever been 
other than the emptiest mockery of that name. "Listen. When 
Captain Wolverton j'ou married Ada Vivan — 

Marquis. (Shouting.) It is false; it is a false fabrication— a 
lie. 

Constance. (Quickly and sneeringly.) Of whose? Of yours 
or of Matthew Warlock, who was your regimental servant when 
you were an officer in the Second Life Guards and with whom I 
had an interview last night previous to the reception of the Coun- 
tess of Newmarket's. 

Marquis. ( Panting. ) Woman — 

Constance. You were married to Ada Vivan at Prince Court 
Chapel, Pall Mall, upon the 10th of February in the presence of 
Matthew Warlock, and whom you have recently thought dead. — 
Was it not so ? 1 kno w that after your marriage a girl was bom. 
When you married me, you desired to possess a woman whose 
form and face, allied to distinguished birth, might make you the 
envy of your peers. You obtained — a statue. I took you on the 
pretense of an ambition for a coronet, bat for the purposes of re- 
venge — a revenge which has recoiled upon myself, insomuch that 
I have suffered long and deeply in consequence of my own mad 
folly. It is quite needless that I should tell you why I parted— 
the separation was by mutual consent — from my husband, why I 
discarded my child. You, Lord Westchester, have but to look 
upon the past as I shall — as one of humiliating and bitter memo- 
ry, and to place in your household, she who is legitimately enti- 
tled to preside here as its mistress. Last night I became ac- 



54 yxoKBx, oii 

quainted with the full particulars of yoiir former marriage — to- 
uight 1 leave your roof forever. I have only to add that as 1 — 
when 1 pass into the fresh air from the healed atmosphere of this 
abode — I shall forget you ; so 1 hope that the memory of me in your 
mind will die with my departure from you. [Turns to go. He 
motions her to remain. \ 

Marquis. iGasplnyly.] It is but just that you should listen 
to me after the patient liearing that 1 have given you. I coa- 
fess I am overwhelmed by your communication, and I find it diti- 
cult not only to speak, but to think, with coherency. 1 own 1 am 
taken by surprise ; [calmly^ but after the first horror has in some 
degree subsided, 1 seem to feel that this mutual explanation is for 
the best. After what you have acknowledged, i will confess 
that I have been married, and that I oelieve that the person whom 
1 married is yet living; but I was married by a trick— by a piece of 
jugglery which was unknown to me; and I married you at least in 
good faith. However, that is all ended — is over; the suspicions, 
agonies, miseries of years, liave ended with your confession, liut 
for the sake of the innocent, it is proper tliat we should proceed 
cautiously. By the innocent, I mean, firstly, the Countess of 
Brackleigh. She surely was unmarried when the Earl sought her 
hand and led her to the alter ? 

(/'ONSTANCE. IFalterinyly.} I— I— believe so. 

Makquis. In that case, unquestionably, Brackleigh has com- 
mitted bigamy. • 

Constance. He — he is at least safe fr m your attack — or mine, 

MAitQUis. [Quickly. \ But not from that of the Countess! and 
I shall at least have the power of enlightening her upon her pain- 
ful and degrading position, unless — 

Constance. Unless what? 

Marquis. [Suddenly /aliiug upon his knees— passionately.] 
Unless you save me from despair, madness, crime, perdition. 1 
love you. Ihave loved you passionately since first we wedded. — 
I have borne my passion in secret. I have suffered it to prey 
upon my heart, my soul, rather than pain you with it ; but 
the time has come when silence would be idiocy. I love 
you, and I am determined that you shall be mine. No 
slave shall so serve you, no devotee shall so adore you as I 
will if you will only receive me — I am so in the eyes of the 
world — as your husband. I do not ask, or expect from you, love; 
but you can accept mine, and return me gentlenes and kindness; 
it will be all I shall ever hope for, all I shall ever ask of you; do 
not spurn me from you ; do not discard me ; do not, I entreat, I im- 
plore you — 

Constance. [Indignantly.] Hise, Westchester. I command 
you ; you insult me ; you outrage me. 

Marquis. [Springs to hisjeet — hiry and amazement. \ Insult 
— outrage you? 

Constance. [Sternly.] Yes, you forget that lam a married 
woman, and not your wife. 



THB POOE GIRL. 55 



Mabquis. iQulckly.'] Your effrontery has no parallel. I 
ag liu warn you — nay, I entreat you, not to reject me. Reflect— 
htiauie will have been heaped upon iny name, and wherefore 
should I pause at any crime ? My own life, without you, I shall 
not hold as of the value of a minute's purchase, and if I am to be 
hurled to perdition, do you imagine that I will not drag others down 
in my fall, too? Do you think you will escape me? do you think 
/ie will escape me? iSTo! I swear that if my hopes, and desires, 
and wishes are to be shattered, I will crush those of all who have 
in any way aided to destroy mine. [Constance recoils.] Your 
answer! [Hissing.] Your answer I Remember, you, too, have a 
child. Ah! I have seen her. Reject me, and I'll reach your 
heart through her. Your answer! 

Constance. [Scornfully.] I scarcely imagined that to your 
other weakness you would add silly childishness. Let it for once 
satisfy you that i hate you, and that my decision is therefore irre- 
vocable. 

Makquis. [Mighty effort to appear calm.] So, then, all be- 
tween us has ended forever, and events, however desperate, must 
take their course. I will not detain you longer than to tell you, 
that I have to-day most grossly insulted and struck the Earl ef 
Brackleigh, and I have received a note — a challenge, from your 
paramour — 

Constance. [Quickly.] My husband, sir. 

Mauquis. [Hi'isini/.] Your pander, woman. Your mean, 
truckling wretch, who loved you dearly and honorably enough to 
permit you proceed to the arms of another, with his full, free con- 
sent. [Constance cjroans and starjijers.] No matter, let that go 
— you are a pair well titted for each other. I shall go out with 
him within the hour, and I shall either fall by his hand, or he 
will by mine. If 1 reach his heart, and I shall, woman, I will 
hiss your name in his ear. I will call upon him to curse you as 
the author of all this mischief and misery. I will seek your child 
out, and tell her that you have slain her father, your own honor 
and hers — 

Constance. [ Wildly.] This must not be — this duel must not 
take place. Great God, it will be murder ! 

MABr^L'is. [Excitedly.] It shall be murder; for he shall not 
leave the field alive, if I shoot him down, when he is unprepared, 
in cold blood. 

Constance. (Gaspingly.) No, no! 

Mabquls. (Furiously.) I have sworn it, and I will do it. — 
Wretch, you will be his murderess, as you will be mine, and that 
of your helpless child, whose only shame — but bitter shame — is 
that she is your daughter — 

Constance. (Gasping.) Peace! You slay me with your 
words. 

Marquis. (Frantically. ) No. You have had no mercy on 
others. What mercy should be shown to you ? No. You have 
braved it well and long, but my turn has come. Why, I will tell 



56 VLOBST, OB 

your husband, woman — you are fond of that word — how often you 
have caressed me, fondled, toyed with me. 

CoNSTAXCE. (Madly.) Liar I 

Marquis. (Foaming.] What matters it if lam so in fact? I 
will swear to its truth. Why, will not he remember how you 
showered your tender endearments upon him ; aye, and when I 
avow upon "oath that you have sated me with the like voluptuous 
dalliance, he will believe me, not you. Men always believe such 
stories of woman, whether they are true or not. 

Constance. {Frenziedly. I will hear no more. ( Totters to- 
ward the door, but ere reachinc/ it she falls upon the Hoor in a 
swoon. The Marquis catches her up, kisses her forehead, and 
presses her to Ms breast; then lays her tenderly upon the lounge. | 

Marquis. (^Groaning,) It is the last childish weakness of 
which I shall fce guilty. Be this the proof. [Takesfrom his pocket 
a paper, pour iny from it into a glass a white powder, then Jills it 
withwater.l Surrender her to him! Never, though the scaffold 
be my portion. 

Constance. {Partly raising herself, one hand upon her throat 
— ynurmuring hoar.sely.) Water, water. (Marquis hands her the 
glass and she drains it to the last drop. The Marquis then 
takes the glass and dashes it to the floor. Goes and pulls the bell 
rope. Enter maid-servant. \ 

Marquis. Your mistress has fainted, woman; attend to her. — 
[Constance stagc/ers to her feet.] Go; now, and unto all eternity, 
farewell. (Constance drawing herself up proudly, turns iqjon him 
a look of intense scorn — then staggers from the room at c jollowed 
by girl. The Marquis sits upon the lounge and gazes fixedly upon 
the floor through his hands.) 

[Enter Edmond dressed as a military officer — General' s uniform,} 

Edmond. (Soberly.) Westchester ; a very shocking event has 
happened, and it is only right that you should be made acquainted 
with it. 

Marquis. {Impatiently.) What is it? 

Edmond. The Countess of Brackteigh was discovered dead 
just before the Earl departed for the place agreed upon ! 

Marquis. Dead ! 

Edmond. Yes ! It was very sudden — very unexpected — very 
horrible, I believe. Dont you think that as a mere matter of hu- 
man feeling, and out of respect for the memory of the departed 
lady, we had better postpone this little affair ? 

Marquis. {Aside.) This leaves him free — free to claim her. 
{Turning.) Postpone it. No, certainly not. Never. 

Edmond. {Surprise.) But the circumstances, man alive. 

Marquis. Are only such as to make me more eager for the 
meeting. You do not know the Earl. I do. I should not be sur- 
prised to hear that poison — 

Edmond. (Quickly.) Hush! hush! Murther, what would 
you insinuate ? 



THE POOK GIRL. 67 

Mauquis. {Excitedly.) I care not! Anything, everj'thing 
rather than he shoiikl be permitted to suealv out of m. meting me 
foot to foot, face to face. 

Esmond If it's that you maiie, I've nothing further to say, 
Westchester. Only jest this — your goin' to work a little more like 
a butcher than a gintlenien. 

Marquis. {Fiercely.) How? 

Esmond. {Distantly.) Whisht. We'll settle our trifling dis- 
cussion on this point afterward ; your little quarrel would have 
kept until it would have been daceut to fight it out; but since you 
are determined, the devil a help there's for it, and so you must 
light? 

Marquis. (Grating his teeth.) I am determined I {Looking 
' at ids watch. ) The hour is near at hand. Come, follow me. 

[Exits.] 

Esmond. The bloodthirsty, murtherin' villain. By the maiden 
aunt of Moses, he manes killing his man, if he does not first get 
pinked himself. (Exits after the Marquis.) 

[Enter FANNV shelley and floret at back c] 
Fannie. Bear with this way of entering the house, miss, you 
shall leave it by the grand entrance ; and as a great lady. 

Floret. [Excited whisj^er.^ But Lady Westchester is not 
here ? 

Fannie. [Positively. '\ She is, I know it, — I feel it here. (Hand 
on her bosom.[ I know it, because I have seen what is about to 
happen, in my dreams. [Floret sits in a chair, and Fannie kneels 
at her feet and takes one of her hands; then Fannie sings through the 
first verse of "O.' Oranges." As the last note dies aiimy, Constance 
appears upon the threshold of R door, looking at Fannie; she is 
tremblimj violently, and horror and amazement are stamped upon 
her countenance. Fannie is still singing.] 

Yet cheeks there are, — yet cheeks there are, 
Sweeter, — O, Good God. 

Constance. [Staggering into the room, and sinkivg slowly 
upon her knees; with out-stretched arms and head bent.] Mercy! 
Fannie! — mercy, my child — mercy O, God! [Her head declines to 
her knees, and she is falling, but Fannie springs and catches her; 
as Constances feels her touch, she gives a scream of shuddering 
horror and partly rising, staggers to the L front corner of stage; 
and buries her face in her hand.] 

Fannie. [Following her up.] Miss Constance, dear Miss Con- 
stance — I know you by no other name — look upon me, I am Fan- 
nie, your devoted friend, your foster sister — miss — Lady Constance, 
we nursed at the same breast. Dear, dear foster-sister, you were 
attached to me when we were girls, and you said you loved me when 
you were a woman, when even we parted, as I thought — ay, and so 
you thourght too — forever. 

Constance. [Pressing her hands upon her head, and in a ton* 



58 FLORET, OB 



^/ bewilderment. ] Is this no dream — no wild phantom of the im- 
agination — no spectral vision, conjured up by my distracted and 
disordered brain? Can it be real? or am I mad, and this one of 
the frenzied illusions which the mad see? [Turning to Fannie. \ 
Does my brain mjck me ? Do my eyes deceive me ? Is it indeed 
you, P\annie ? 

Faxnie. [Expreftsion of entreaty.] It is indeed, Fannie Shel- 
ley, your foster-sister? 

Constance. {Speaking with some difficulty and coughing 
slif/htly.^ 1 was informed that — you — were dead. 

Fannie. To the world I was dead for a time, and all that was 
in it was dead to me, for it pleased Heaven to take from me my 
reason. 

Constance. You were mad? 

Fannie. I was, it was supposed, hopelessly mad, but i: pleased 
the same Great Power which deprived me of my senses to restore 
them to me. 

(/'oNSTANCE. [Couyhiny— feebly.} How did you gain admit- 
tance here ? 

Fannie. By the same way that I have come into and departed 
from this house many times. 

Constance. (Colder tone.) And why have you sought me? 

Fannie. Can you ask that of n)e — of me. Lady Constance ? — 
Have you forgotten what I endured and suffered for your saice? — 
Do you remember what caused my madness? and what — what — 
what — laid — both — iny parents — in one grave? [Last in tears.] 
What brought me here ! O, Lady Constance ! (Tearfully.) Look 
there ! ( Vehemently and pointing to Floret who stands gazing 
entreating ly ivith hands clasped.) Ask me what forced me away 
from you. I will answer you : Look there ! Ask me again what 
brought me to you, and I will still answer: Look there! (Con- 
stance trembles in every limb and is siezed with a fit of coughing.) 
Oh, fosttir-sister, foster-sister! I was from childhood the slave of 
your will, your caprice. I bore with you because I knew you had 
still a generous, affectionate ln-art. But there stands your child. 
Have you not one spark of tenderness — one trait of human kind- 
ness, charity, love for her. Lady Constance — woman, if you are 
woman — for your own flesh and blood — not only the living image 
of yourself, but of Her, the mother of that God who died to save 
us all? If you would not see me fall dead at your feet, speak — 
not to me, but to her, your child! {Constance staggershack ; gasp- 
ing, panting and trembling; Fannie takes Florets hand.\ She has 
endured ignominy, humiliation, suffering of which you can form 
no conception. She has borne all — all but shame, or vice, or 
crime. She — she. Lady Constance, is free from sin. I took her 
from you; I restore her to you. I place her on your bosom, moth- 
er of the discarded, and you will not dare to thrust her thence, if 
you would not call down upon you Heaven's wrathful lightning to 
wither and destroy yon. 

Flobet. (Voice tremblina with emotion — clasped hands.) — 



THK POOR GIKL. 69 

Mother! mother! tell me only that I am your child— only that— 
and I will pray God to bless you. 

CoxsTANCE. {Suddenly turning.) God have mercy upon me. 
(.Throwing open her arnu and calchiwj Floret within them presses 
passionately to her breast, j My child, ray poor, abused, long de- 
serted child I pity me ! pity me. You cannot forgive me. {Kisses 
Floret's forhead passionately, and Floret returns with frenzied 
earnestness and delight. Floret is ubout to kneel at her feet, but 
Constance raises her to her bosin again.'] 

CoxsTANCE. [Coughing — hoarsely.) Such should be my posi- 
tion to you. O, I have wronged y u deeply. I have sinned. I 
have sinned. Where, where, will be the end of this? Mercy, 
Heaven ! I am unable to endure this dreadful emotion. Let me 
be seated. I feel as though I was dying. [Sits upon the lounge, 
xohen another fit of coughing siezes her more violent than before.) 
Fi-ORET. (Anxiously.) O, mother, mother, what ails you? 
Are you ill ? 

Constance. (With difficulty.) It is nothing worth heeding. 
It is the result of ceaseless, dreadful anxiety — of distracting fear Ig 
of tormenting doubts, of passionate regrets and remorse. It is 
impossible for you, for any creature breathing, to surmise what I 
have suffered. I doomed you to a life of privation — God only 
knows what ; but I doomed myself, too, to a life which has been 
one long, protracted torture. I have been punished fearfully here 
— there needs no other hell than the upbraidings of a guilty con- 
science. (Another fit of violent coughing and strangulation. Flo- 
ret appeers anxious.) It is nothing, and even if it be the har- 
bidger of death, I shall welc me it. 

Floret. {^Tearfully. \ No, no, no. You will yet live to ojca- 
sion me many years of happiness. O, say not so? 

Constance, (Gasping.) I will try to live long enough to 
draw up a statement which will assign to you your proper place 
in society. I will di^clare to the world that you are the daughter 
of myself and my husband, Viscount Bertram, now Earl of 
Brackleigh — 

Floret. [Kneeling by her side, with clasped hands upraised.] 
Almighty Heaven! accept the grateful offering of a full heart 
tendered in thankfulness for thy mercy. 

('ONSTANCi';. \_Folding Floret in her arms.] I — will — render 
— you full justice; at best a poor atcjnement for what I have com- 
pelled you to undergo. To the statement which acknowledges 
you as the child of the Viscount and Viscountess Bertram, I 
will — I will — further — make — such reparation — [Coughs terribly. 
Floret presses her hand upon her brow thoughtfully.] 

Floret. [Quickly. \ Mother! dear mother, can you remem- 
ber of taking liquid from anyone recently ? 

Constance. [Look of horror.] O, I remember now ! I have 
been with Westchester. I have had an interview with him, and I 
took water from h s hand. My God! I am poisoned! (Sinks 
back exhausted.] 



60 FI.ORET, OK 

Floret. [Eagerly.'] Look up, dearest mother, fear not, you 
shall be saved. 

Constance. {Feebly.) It is the gipsies' poison. Ithasnoan- 
tidote. 

Fljket. [Passionate vehemence.] It has. Liper Leper gave 
it to me, ai.d, Heaven be praised, 1 have the antidote with me. 
[Takes from her bosom a small cial.) A glass, quick, quick, Fan- 
nie, a glass. [Fannie procure.'! a (,lass and Floret pours som.; of 
the li(juid into it— with a tremblini/ hand she gives it to Constance, 
ivho alihovijh coighiny violently, quaffs the contents eagerly and 
pants and (jusps terribly— jn-eaently her aqitation subsides and 
placing hn- hand upon her throat she turns to Floret, and in a 
clear voice.] 

Constance. Thank God— my child. You— you have sa/ed 
me. 

[Maid servant enters — wringinij her hands. \ 

Servant. O, my Lady, prepare yourself fo/ terrible news. 
Something dreadful has happened. 

[Enter Bertram, supported by Esmond cmd Victor, lie seetns 
very faint. \ 

Bertram. [Faintly.) Where is the Marquis? I trust he was 
not badly injured. 1 tried to save his life. 

Victor. He is dead, my lord. 

Esmond. But, by the holy saints, my Lord Brackleigh, you've 
been killed by a dirty piece of murther, any way. [They lay him 
■upon the lounge when he becomes senseless.] He desired us to 
bring him here, my Lady. 

Constance. Tliauk Heaven, he is olive. Come my child. — 
[She kneehby him.\ 

Victor. [Perceiving Floret.] , My God! Floret you liere? 
How — what — what is the meaning — 

Floret. Hush, Victor, all shall be explained presently? — 
Kneels by the side of Constance.] 

Constance. [Gentle to)ie.-i quivering with emotion. \ Bertram. 
Husband. [He turn.s and extends his ha)id, Constance takes it 
and bending her head on Floret^ a .shoulder weeps bitterly. Floret 
is .sobbing convulsively. Other characters in the room look on won- 
dering ly.] 

Hertram. [G en' ly— faintly.) Do not grieve, Constance My 
hour lias come, and we must part fcr^'ver. Do not recur to the 
past — 

Constance, [Bitter anguish. I — I — have slain you I O, 
Bertram, Bertram, how can 1 bare my heart before you, to show 
you the agonizing lepentance with which I recall my madness, my 
wickedness — 

Bertram. Cease, Constance, to speak of it — to me, I have siu- 
ed so much, that when you refer to your eiTor, you but make me 



THB POOR GIRL. 61 

£eel my own more deeply. I must not throw blame upon you, be- 
cause 1 have reaped the rank and bitter weeds which I myself 
have sown. Let us speak only of tlie future. I have something on 
my mind — which — [Noticing Floret.] I — O, God of Heaven! is it 
that I am delirious, or is there a figure kneeling by your side — a 
form — a face which has haunted me in my sleep? Constance, is 
it a reality — or only my distempered imagination? [To Floret.) 
In the name of mercy, in the name of Heaven, if you have life, 
speak to me. Who are you ? 

Floket. [Gas2JUig apatiniodirally.] lam your child — I am 
your child. You have denied me; but, indeed — indeed — 1 am 
your own child. 

Beutkam. I Groaning. ] Constance, as you hope for mercy 
hereafter, speak to me. Who is that by your side ? 

Constance, {luilf screandny.) Bertram, Bertram, it is your 
child and mine. She was bjrn at Beachborough Abbey before we 
parted. I — I— am to blame. [ only am to blame. O, mercy — 
mercy — do not curse me, Bertram, do not curse me. (Buries her 
face in the cushions and iceep.^ auonizedly.) 

Beutu.^m. [FerventUj. Almighty Gud, for this mercy I thank 
Thee. To have lived over this moment disarms Fate of any fur- 
ther power to grieve me. {Turns to Floret and cUnping her in 
his arm.'i. \ My poor child ; my poor child ; how you have been 
wronged; how you nuist have suffered. O. if I had but known 
that you were mine — what happiness — what joy it would have 
been to me, to have reared you, to have loved you, to have made 
you my pride — my happiness. Kiss me — my dear child — too late 
known — too shortly i).!loved. [Floret Icisses him passionately, hawj- 
ing and clinrjin'j about his neck with an intensity of affection and 
delight. ) 

Bektuam. (Feebly.) Constance, my love — my first love — 
my only and my lost love — when I am g'>ne, believe that I always 
regarded you, in these last moments, as when I met you — as young 
and beautiful as she who is now by my side — our child. Con- 
stance, I know that you loved me, and that you would have re- 
mained lirm and loyal to the last — 

Constance. O, Bertram, Bertram, hear me — believe me, in 
the face of the Supreme Creator who gazes down upon us both at 
this dread moment, that I speak I he truth to you. I have been 
true to you Bertram — my husband — true to that marriage vow 
which bound my honor to yours — true in thought, in deed, in look 
chaste, I swear, Bertram. Do not die without believing, in your 
heart and soul ; that the immaculate purity which you purchased at 
the altar with solemn vows, bears, even now, not a tinge or taint 
of shame upon it. 

Floret. [^Taking Victor^s hand, who is standing near, and who 
has been listening eagerly.] Kneel quickly, Victor, and let us re- 
ceive my father's blessing ere he dies! [They kneel.] 

Bertram. {Intense fervor.) I die, happy! 

Floret. (Quickly.) No, no, no, dear father. Give us your 



62 FLORET. 

blessing ere you die. I am the promised wife of Lord Victor. O 
bless us — bless us before you die. 

Beijtbam. (Hands upon their heads.) Take her, Victor — 
(feebly) — take her — love her and treat her tenderly — and as you do 
to her, so may God in Heaven do to you, and may He bless you, 
even as I do in my dying hour. {Gasping.) My wife — my child- 
one last embrace! {He folds them in his arms and amid their soba 
falls back on the lounge, dead. During the latter part of this last 
sentence all in the room kneel. ) 



THE END. 



STORY. 

During the early portion of tlicir lives, the Earl of Brackleigh' 
(Bertram) and Constance PJantagenet, contracted a secret, but le- 
gitimate marriage. Soon after, tlie newly made husband and wife 
quarelled and separated, each agreeing }iever to molest the other 
in whatever marriage they might again contract. The issue of this 
marriage,, but wholly unknown to its father, was the child Floret, 
for whom its mother at its birth conceived a violent hatred, and 
under the most solemn vows of secrecy that its birth should never 
be revealed to any living creature, the child was transferred to the 
arms and future care of the mother's maid and foster sister, Fan- 
nie Shelley, who was so devotedly attached to her mistress' inter- 
ests, that she consented to rear it as her own, and the child was 
forthwith conveyed to her own far distant home. Upon arriving 
among her friends with the newly born child in her arms, and not 
being able to give a satisfactory explanation of its presence, she 
was accused by her lover (iiarry) with being its gnilty mother. A 
violent quarrel ensued, and this, together with having to bear the 
burden of its real mother's secret, dethroned her reason. One 
morning Fannie Shelley was missing, and upon a search being in- 
stituted, articles of her wearing apparel were found floating in the 
river. It was supposed that she had drov.ned herself, 'and in an 
agony of remorse her former lover took the child Floret home to 
his sister, Susan Atten, to rear and educate. Meantime the child's 
mother had contracted a second marriage with Lord Westchester, 
(he supposing he hadwoed and won a maid) but her guilty secret 
weighing heavily on her mind, she surreptitiously removed from 
the Church registry the record and all ti'a*ce of her foriiier mar- 
riage, and suspicious that her child might in some way complicate 
her future, she contracted, under an assumed name, with the Gip- 
sy girl, Hagar Lot, to abduct it and so effectually dispose of it that 
by no chance or possibility could it ever again cross her path, or in 
anyway be ever cognizant of the fact that it wag other than its de- 
signed future should make it — an outcast! This scheme was so 
far consummated that Hag;ir Lot stole tlie cliild from Mamma Atten 
(who .afterwards made an unavailing search for its whereabouts) 
and after marking it, placed it in the charge of an old Gipsy of her 
tribe, with the understanding that at some future day she would 
again take it from liim. Years passed by, and the child who had 
been educated to believe herself a Gipsy, and the daughter of the 
old man and woman wdio had her under their control, became des- 
perate at the cruel treatment slie received at their hands, and re- 
solved upon escaping frcm tliem, which resolution she ultimately 
carries into execution. The Daddy to whom she has made herself 
extremely valuable by selling floweis, is wild at her loss, while his 
wife (Grannam) who has regarded her as a burden, is extremely 
indifferent, but both are disco vei-ed searching.' 



m!^,^,!^'^^ Of" CONGRESS 

lllillliliiiiillill 

016 102 178 7 



